'    ,    '. 


■ 

I 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINIANA 

ENDOWED  BY 

JOHN  SPRUNT  HILL 

CLASS  OF  1889 


C813 
R35w 


This  book  must  not 
be  taken  from  the 
Library  building. 


THE    WARGRAVE    TRUST 


THE 


WARGRAVE    TRUST 


BY 


CHRISTIAN   REID 

Author  of  "A  Woman  of  Fortune,'"  etc .,  etc. 


New  York,  Cincinnati,  Chicago 

BENZIGER    BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS    OF    BENZIGER'S    MAGAZINE 


Copyright,  1911,  by  Benziger  Brothers 


CONTENTS 


*> 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    Reparation    7 

II.    At  Home 19 

III.  A  Trust 31 

IV.  Laurence  Meets  His  Uncle 43 

V.    A  Question  of  Confidence 55 

VI.     Family  History 67 

VII.    A  Change  of  Name 78 

VIII.    A  Matter  of  Justice 91 

IX.    Laurence  Meets  Father  Martin 105 

X.    Miss  Selwyn  is  Introduced 119 

XI.    Laurence  Calls  up  Miss  Landon 134 

XII.  Laurence  Renews  Acquaintance  with 

Miss  Landon 148 

XIII.  Judge  Wargrave  Receives  a  Letter 164 

XIV.  Father   Martin    Tells   Miss   Landon's 

Story 180 

XV.     Miss  Landon's  Secret  is  Revealed 193 

XVI.  Miss  Landon  Acts  as  Judge  Wargrave's 

Nurse 208 

XVII.    The  Judge  Recognizes  the  Likeness 224 


v;  5 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.  The  Judge's  Illusion  242 

XIX.  Edith  Creighton's  Opinion  op  Laurence  257 

XX.  The  Judge  Asks  Miss  Landon's  Name.  .  272 

XXI.  Pardon  and  Love 287 

XXII.  Edith  Listens  at  the  Door 299 

XXIII.  Hester  Explains 312 

XXIV.  Judge  "Wargrave's  Death 325 

XXV.  Laurence  Burns  the  Will 340 

XXVI.  A  Family  Discussion 358 

XXVII.  Laurence  Stays 370 


THE  WARGRAVE  TRUST 


CHAPTER  I 

EEPAEATION 

It  came,  as  such  things  generally  come,  with 
the  unexpectedness  of  a  thunderbolt  out  of  a 
clear  sky.  One  moment  the  train  was  flying 
swiftly  and  smoothly  across  the  beautiful 
country,  full  of  autumn  color  and  the  peace- 
fulness  of  harvest  time ;  and  the  next  it  was  as 
if  an  Inferno  of  horror  had  opened  for  those 
within  it.  There  came  from  the  engine  a  sudden, 
wild  shriek,  like  a  cry  of  mortal  peril  and 
terror;  a  grinding  shock,  as  the  brakes  were 
hurriedly  applied,  which  threw  every  one  who 
chanced  to  be  standing  off  his  or  her  feet ;  and, 
following  immediately,  a  crash  so  tremendous 
that  it  seemed  impossible  for  anything  to  with- 
stand it.  The  Pullman  coach  trembled  under 
the  terrible  impact  like  a  living  thing,  and  for 
an  instant  seemed  about  to  go  over;  but  its 
great  weight  kept  it  on  the  track,  while,  amid 

7 


8  REPAEATION 

the  hiss  and  uproar  of  escaping  steam,  the 
ordinary  coaches  in  front  tumbled  upon  each 
other,  splintering  like  kindling  wood,  and 
imprisoning  in  their  debris  the  shrieking  mass 
of  humanity  which  they  held. 

Laurence  Desmond  sprang  to  his  feet  as  soon 
as  movement  became  possible.  He  had  been 
lying  back  in  his  seat,  half  asleep,  when  the 
crash  came ;  but  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind 
what  it  meant.  As  he  opened  his  eyes  he 
expected  to  look  Death  in  the  face;  but  when, 
after  that  sickening  instant  of  indecision,  the 
Pullman  stood  still,  he  knew  that  for  those 
within  it  the  danger  was  past ;  and  the  impulse 
to  go  to  the  aid  of  those  others  for  whom  it  was 
not  past,  whose  awful  cries  were  even  now 
filling  the  air,  made  him  start  hurriedly  toward 
the  door. 

His  movement  was  so  rapid  that,  in  the  act 
of  leaving  his  seat,  he  came  into  collision  with 
the  occupant  of  the  opposite  section, — a  young 
woman  who,  like  himself,  was  travelling  alone, 
and  whose  eager  movement  into  the  aisle 
coincided  exactly  with  his  own.  Both  recoiled, 
with  a  gasped  word  of  apology ;  and  then,  invol- 
untarily catching  his  arm,  the  girl  exclaimed: 

' 'You  are  going  to  help  them?    So  am  I." 

He  paused  to  stare  at  her.  " You'd  better 
stay  where  you  are,"  he  said.  " There's  noth- 
ing you  can  do,  and  it  will  be — horrible !  You 
are  quite  safe  here  now. ' ' 


REPARATION  9 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  safety,"  she  answered. 
"And  you  don't  understand.  There  may  be  a 
great  deal  that  I  can  do.    I'm  a  trained  nurse." 

"Oh!"  He  knew  what  this  meant;  and  he 
also  recognized,  with  the  insight  which  comes 
in  such  moments  of  emergency,  that  there  was 
no  possibility  of  flinching  or  weakness  in  the 
face  out  of  which  the  clear  eyes  met  his  own 
so  steadily,  whatever  horror  those  eyes  might 
be  called  to  look  upon.  ' '  In  that  case, ' '  he  said, 
"you  may  be  of  much  use.    Come!" 

He  moved  on  hastily,  and  she  followed  him 
as  quickly  as  was  possible  down  the  narrow 
passage,  now  crowded  with  men  hurrying 
toward  the  door,  while  urging  the  hysterical 
women  in  the  different  sections  to  keep  quiet. 
One  of  these  women  seized  and  detained  her. 

"They  want  us  to  stay  here!"  she  cried. 
"But  you  are  going  out." 

"Because  I'm  a  trained  nurse,"  the  girl 
explained.  "I  wouldn't  go  if  I  didn't  think  I 
could  be  of  service.  But  those  who  are  unable 
to  help  had  better  stay  where  they  are. ' ' 

"But  can't  we  help?"  another  asked.  "If 
some  of  us  went  with  you,  couldn't  we  be  of 
service,  too  ? ' ' 

"It  is  doubtful,"  the  girl  answered.  "And 
it  will  be  awful, — you  don't  know  how  awful! 
Better  let  me  go  alone;  and  if  there's  anything 
you  can  do,  I  will  call  for  you." 

Her   quietness    calmed    them,    her    courage 


10  REPARATIOX 

sliamed  hysterics,  and  her  promise  acted  as  a 
brace  and  stimulant.  They  fell  back  and 
allowed  her  to  go  on.  "Be  sure  and  let  us  know 
if  there's  anything  we  can  do,"  they  told  her; 
and  when,  with  a  nod,  she  hurried  away,  they 
looked  at  each  other  with  that  mingling  of 
wonder  and  admiration  which,  while  it  lasts, 
uplifts  the  human  spirit  above  the  common 
things  of  life.  Some  faint  realization  came  to 
them  of  the  awfulness  of  the  scene  to  which  she 
was  hastening,  and  a  shudder  shook  even  the 
strongest.  They  sank  back  into  their  seats,  as 
if  stilled  by  a  compelling  hand;  and  there  can 
be  little  doubt  that  more  than  one  prayed  in  her 
heart  that  the  call  for  help  might  not  come  to 
her. 

Meanwhile  the  girl  found  Desmond  waiting 
for  her  just  outside  the  car,  where  no  obse- 
quious porter  with  his  stool  was  in  attendance 
now.  As  he  helped  her  to  the  ground,  he  said 
hesitatingly : 

"Of  course  I  know  what  your  training  has 
been,  but  I  hope  you  are  strong  enough  to  stand 
this.    It's — as  bad  as  can  be." 

A  glance  told  her  what  he  was  trying  to  pre- 
pare her  for;  and  she  felt  her  heart  turn  sick, 
as  it  had  not  turned  since  the  first  days  of 
the  training  to  which  he  alluded.  But  her 
voice  betrayed  no  sign  of  this,  as  she  said 
hastily : 

"Oh,  I'm  strong  enough!    And,  any  way,  I 


REPARATION  11 

haven't  time  to  think  of  myself.  Let  us  get 
on — quick ! ' ' 

Without  more  words,  they  hurried  forward 
to  the  scene  of  disaster.  The  two  engines,  which 
had  come  together  in  a  head-on  collision,  lay 
overturned,  a  great  mass  of  distorted  metal,  of 
escaping  steam  and  smoking  fires ;  underneath 
which  were  buried  the  bodies  of  the  engineers 
and  firemen,  for  whom  rescue  was  so  clearly 
impossible  that  it  could  only  be  hoped  that 
death  had  come  to  them  with  merciful  swift- 
ness. But  in  the  frightfully  piled-up  wreckage 
of  cars  there  were  many  shrieking,  moaning 
creatures  still  living  and  crying  for  help;  and 
to  extricate  these,  men  were  working  madly, 
furiously,  tearing  away  the  debris  and  bring- 
ing out  the  injured  and  the  dead  as  fast  as 
possible. 

Already  many  had  been  placed  on  the  ground 
by  the  side  of  the  wreck — some,  both  of  living 
and  dead,  no  more  than  awful  fragments  of 
humanity — and  in  a  minute  the  young  nurse 
was  on  her  knees  by  the  side  of  the  first  of 
these,  her  bag  open,  her  quick,  deft  hands  giv- 
ing such  aid  as  the  case  required,  or  exigence 
made  possible.  All  shrinking  was  past.  It  was 
as  she  had  said :  she  had  no  time  for  thought  of 
herself  or  her  own  feelings;  she  was  absorbed 
in  her  work,  in  relieving  and  sustaining  the 
poor,  fainting,  suffering  souls  whom  chance 
had  cast  on  her  hands. 


12  REPARATION 

For  it  soon  appeared  that  their  only  hope  of 
such  relief  lay  with  her.  There  was  not — at 
least  among  the  living — a  physician  on  the 
train;  and  as  the  shattered  creatures  were 
brought  out  from  the  wreck  and  laid  down  in 
increasing  numbers,  Desmond  and  several 
other  men  found  that  they  could  do  their  best 
relief  work  in  giving,  under  her  direction,  that 
" first  aid  to  the  injured"  which  was  almost 
immediately  demanded.  With  coolness,  clear- 
ness and  precision,  she  issued  the  orders,  which 
their  willing,  if  somewhat  clumsy,  hands 
obeyed;  and  as  she  moved  from  one  case  to 
another,  seeing  at  a  glance  what  it  was  neces- 
sary to  do,  and  doing  and  directing  this,  she 
seemed,  to  those  who  had  time  to  think  and  to 
observe,  the  incarnation  of  helpful  energy,  as 
well  as  of  trained  skill. 

Nor  was  this  energy  the  cold  and  soulless 
thing  which  hospital  training  too  frequently 
produces.  There  was  in  it  a  warmth  of  human 
sympathy,  a  compassion  for  suffering,  which 
gave  gentleness  to  every  touch,  and  spoke  in 
every  word  she  uttered.  Courage  seemed  to 
emanate  from  her;  and  many  of  the  most  des- 
perately injured  hushed  their  cries  as  they 
looked  up  into  her  face,  at  once  so  tender  and  so 
brave.  It  may  have  been  this  influence  which 
made  one  man  catch  her  hand,  as  she  bent  over 
him  to  examine  his  injuries. 

i '  You  can  do  nothing  for  me, ' '  he  said.    "  I  'm 


REPARATION  13 

hurt  past  help;  I  know  enough  to  know  that. 
All  you  can  do  is  to  get  me  a  priest — for  the 
love  of  God !" 

When  this  demand  is  made  in  the  face  of 
death,  not  even  the  most  ignorant  ever  doubts 
the  religion  of  the  person  who  utters  it.  The 
nurse  looked  around  at  her  assistants. 

' '  This  man  is  a  Catholic, ' '  she  said,  ' '  and  he 
wants  a  priest.  Is  there  any  among  the  pas- 
sengers?" 

They  glanced  at  each  other,  and  it  was  Des- 
mond who  answered : 

' '  There  's  no  priest,  or  he  would  be  here  with 
us.  But  one  may  come  on  the  relief  train  that 
has  been  telegraphed  for  to  Kingsf ord. ' ' 

" Can't  you  send  a  message  to  make  sure?" 
the  injured  man  asked.  "Unless  there's  a  call, 
they  may  not  bring  one." 

"Yes,  I'll  go  and  send  a  message  at  once," 
Desmond  answered.  He  looked  apologetically 
at  the  nurse.  "I'm  sorry  to  leave,"  he  said, 
"but  this  is  the  most  urgent  need  of  all.  And 
meanwhile"  (he  leaned  over  the  man)  "you 
know  what  to  do :  make  your  act  of  contrition. ' ' 

"I've  forgotten, — help  me  to  make  it,"  the 
other  said. 

With  only  an  instant's  hesitation,  the  young 
man  knelt  down  beside  him  and  repeated  a 
brief  act  of  contrition,  pausing  between  each 
sentence  for  the  halting  utterance  to  echo  his 
words.  Then,  rising,  he  started  at  a  run  toward 


14  REPARATION 

the  station,  a  mile  or  more  distant,  whence  the 
message  must  be  sent  to  the  large  town,  twenty 
miles  away,  where  the  demand  for  help  had 
already  gone,  and  from  which  a  relief  train 
would  be  sent  to  the  scene  of  disaster.  The 
need  to  dispatch  his  message  before  that  train 
left  made  him  put  forth  all  his  powers;  and 
even  at  this  moment  the  men  whose  gaze  fol- 
lowed him  could  not  forbear  their  tribute  of 
admiration. 

"That's  sprinting  for  you!"  exclaimed  one 
to  another.  "He's  in  fine  form.  At  that  rate, 
he  '11  make  a  mile  in  best  athlete 's  time. ' ' 

"God  reward  him!"  the  man  on  the  ground 
muttered,  and  fell  to  repeating  his  act  of  con- 
trition again. 

When  Desmond  returned  a  little  later,  some- 
what spent  and  breathless,  the  nurse,  by  whose 
side  he  paused,  looked  up  at  him  with  the 
brightness  of  approval  in  her  eyes. 

"You've  been  very  quick,' '  she  said.  "It  was 
good  of  you  to  make  such  an  exertion." 

"Oh,  anybody  would  have  done  as  much!" 
he  replied.  "To  get  a  priest  for  the  dying  is 
the  most  imperative  duty,  you  know." 

"Is  it?"  she  asked,  a  little  wonderingly. 
"And  did  the  message  catch  the  relief  train?" 

"Yes,  barely.  The  answer  was  that  they 
were  nearly  ready  to  start,  and  that  they  would 
certainly  bring  a  priest  with  them." 

She  nodded  backward.    ' '  Tell  that  poor  man. 


REPARATION  15 

It  may  help  to  keep  him  alive  until  they  get 
here." 

He  went  as  she  suggested,  and  found  the  man 
evidently  sinking  fast,  though  still  clear  in 
mind. 

"I  hope  I'll  last,"  he  said  anxiously.  "But 
I'm  awfully  weak,  and  feel  as  if  I  may  go  any 
minute.  Can't  you  give  me  something  to 
strengthen  me?" 

"Give  him  some  brandy,  and  this  hypoder- 
mic of  strychnine,"  the  nurse  said,  when  Des- 
mond carried  the  request  to  her.  "That  is  all 
we  can  do.  He  is  fatally  injured,  and  can  not 
last  long." 

Desmond  looked  doubtfully  at  the  hypoder- 
mic syringe  offered  him. 

"You'd  better  come  and  give  that  yourself," 
he  said. 

She  came;  and  after  she  had  given  it,  the 
man  looked  up  at  her  gratefully. 

"Keep  me  alive!"  he  entreated.  "A  great 
deal  depends  on  it.  I'm  not  thinking  only  of 
absolution  for  myself :  there 's  a  wrong  I  must 
try  to  right  before  I  die.  I  can 't  face  God  with 
that  on  my  soul." 

The  girl  glanced  at  Desmond,  and  again  he 
read  wonder  as  well  as  pity  in  her  eyes. 

"If  we  could  do  anything  to  help  you!"  she 
suggested. 

But  the  man  shook  his  head.  ' '  The  priest ! ' ' 
he  said — "the  priest!" 


16  KEPAKATION 

The  needs  of  others  being  urgent,  they  were 
forced  to  leave  him  then;  and  some  time 
elapsed  before  a  distant  roar,  momently  grow- 
ing louder,  announced  the  welcome  coming  of 
the  relief  train.  Desmond  ran  back  to  see  if  the 
man  was  still  living,  and  was  conscious  of  a 
thrill  of  relief  when  he  met  his  eyes  eagerly 
anxious. 

"Yes,  it's  the  train,' '  he  said,  in  answer  to 
their  unspoken  question.  "I'll  bring  the  priest 
at  once." 

He  was  at  the  side  of  the  train  when  it  drew 
up,  and  was  not  surprised  that  the  first  person 
to  spring  to  the  ground,  before  it  had  fairly 
ceased  movement,  was  a  spare  man  wearing  a 
Roman  collar. 

"This  way,  Father!"  he  exclaimed. 
"There's  a  man  here  desperately  injured,  who 
has  been  keeping  himself  alive  just  to  see  you. ' ' 

"Show  me  where  he  is,"  the  priest  said,  hur- 
rying forward.  Then,  as  they  went,  he  turned 
a  quick  glance  on  the  other.  "You're  a 
Catholic?"  he  inquired. 

Desmond  assented.  He  might  truthfully  have 
added,  ' '  Rather  a  poor  one ' ' ;  but  he  knew  that 
his  shortcomings  of  conduct  were  not  in  ques- 
tion, but  only  the  essential  point  of  faith. 

"Then  wait  while  I  hear  the  poor  soul's  con- 
fession," the  priest  went  on,  "and  you  can 
assist  me  in  anointing  him. ' ' 

Desmond  would  have  been  quite  sure,  at  any 


EEPAEATION  17 

time  before  this,  that  he  had  a  thorough  intel- 
lectual appreciation  of  the  value  of  his  faith, 
however  lightly  he  might  seem  to  hold  it;  but 
he  knew,  when  he  saw  the  light  which  flashed 
over  the  face  of  the  dying  man  at  sight  of  the 
priest,  that  he  had  never  until  that  instant 
appreciated  it  at  all.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
had  never  until  then  seen  what  might  be  called 
the  working  application  of  the  great  principles 
which  he  had  held  as  abstract  truths;  he  had 
never  before  realized  what  those  marvellous 
channels  of  divine  grace  which  we  call  the  sac- 
raments mean  to  the  souls  of  men ;  and  he  had 
never  come  into  immediate  touch  with  the  tre- 
mendous power  of  the  Supernatural  manifest- 
ing itself  through  the  most  ordinary  agency  in 
the  supreme  moments  of  mortal  exigence. 

It  was  certainly  an  ordinary  agency,  and  an 
ordinary  scene  this,  of  a  man  kneeling  down  by 
another,  and  bending  his  ear  to  catch  the 
broken,  gasping  utterances  which  death  threat- 
ened momentarily  to  cut  short.  At  length  the 
voice  ceased,  and  the  priest  raised  his  head, 
shaking  it  a  little. 

"That  is  enough, — don't  try  to  tell  any 
more,"  he  said  soothingly.  "Kenew  your  sor- 
row for  all  the  sins  of  your  past  life.  Now  I 
am  going  to  give  you  absolution. ' ' 

The  hand  was  lifted,  the  saving  Sign  made, 
the  old  familiar  words  murmured  here  amid 
all  this  scene  of  wild  confusion  and  noise,  as 


18 


BEPAKATION 


in  the  quiet  of  so  many  confessionals:  "Ego  te 
absolve*.  .  .  . " 

The  man  gave  a  deep  sigh,  as  of  one  from 
whom  a  great  load  was  lifted,  and  his  eyes 
opened  once  more. 

"God  be  praised!"  he  said.  "I've  told  the 
truth  at  last;  and  you'll  tell  those  who  should 
know,  Father, — you'll  put  things  right, — you 
won't  forget  the  name!" 

The  priest  bent  down  again.  "You  haven't 
told  me  the  name ! "  he  whispered  urgently. 
* '  Quick, — tell  it  to  me  now ! ' ' 

But  the  eyes  had  fallen  shut,  the  spirit 
drifted  away  into  the  mysterious  region  where 
human  speech  can  no  longer  reach. 

"It's — all  right!"  the  lips  murmured. 
"Lord,  I'm  sorry — sorry — " 

Desmond's  hand  fell  on  the  priest's  shoulder. 

"He's  dying,  Father!"  he  warned.  "You'll 
have  to  be  in  haste  if  you  want  to  anoint  him. ' ' 

He  died  ten  minutes  later;  and  as  the  priest 
looked  down  into  the  dead  face,  he  shook  his 
head  again,  regretfully. 

"He  never  told  me  the  name,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  II 

AT  HOME 

No  very  long  time  was  required,  after  the 
arrival  of  the  relief  train,  to  transfer  all  the 
injured  to  it,  for  transportation  to  the  hospital 
at  Kingsf ord ;  and  it  was  natural  that  the  doc- 
tors should  have  desired  to  retain  the  services 
of  the  nurse  who  had  rendered  such  excellent 
aid  before  their  arrival,  and  proved  so  capable 
in  acting  under  their  directions  afterward. 

"You'll  come  with  us,  of  course, "  the  chief 
surgeon  told  her.  "We're  rather  short  of 
nurses  for  ordinary  demands  just  now;  and, 
with  this  influx  of  patients,  I  hardly  know  what 
we  should  have  done  if  we  had  not  found  you, 
Miss — er — " 

"Landon, — Hester  Landon,"  the  girl  sup- 
plied. 

* i  I  see  that  you  have  been  well  trained, ' '  the 
doctor  went  on.  ' '  You  are  a  graduated  nurse  1 ' ' 

"Yes,    I    made    my    course,    and    took    my 

diploma  at "  (she  named  one  of  the  most 

noted   medical    schools    and   hospitals    in   the 
country)  "last  year.' ' 

"Good!  Have  you  any  engagement  just 
now?" 

19 


20  AT  HOME 

"None.  I  was  on  my  way  to  Kingsford  for 
a  vacation. ' ' 

"Well,  instead  of  a  vacation,  Fate  has  sent 
you  work  you  can't  refuse.  You've  helped  these 
poor  creatures  immensely  already,  and  you'll 
have  to  keep  on  helping  them. ' ' 

1 '  I  ask  nothing  better, ' '  the  girl  said  quietly. 

So,  when  the  last  patient  had  been  placed  on 
the  train,  and  all  was  in  readiness  for  its  de- 
parture, Desmond  was  not  surprised  to  see  the 
nurse  also  remaining  on  it. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  with  them,"  she  said,  meet- 
ing his  glance.  ' '  They  need  me,  and  I  am  glad 
of  the  work.  I  prefer  hospital  service  to  the 
private  nursing  I  have  been  doing  lately." 

A  sudden  idea  flashed  into  Desmond's  mind. 
He  was  never  able  to  account  for  its  occurring 
to  him;  but  he  said,  nevertheless: 

"You  have  been  doing  private  nursing? 
Then  perhaps,  after  this  demand  is  over,  you 
would  consent  to  take  a  case?" 

"Why,  yes — if  nothing  else  offered."  But 
she  looked  a  little  surprised.  "Do  you  know 
of  such  a  case  1 ' ' 

' '  I  have  been  summoned  to  Kingsford  by  the 
illness  of  a  near  relative,  and  it  strikes  me  that 
there  may  be  need  of  professional  nursing.  I 
have  seen  your  work,  and  so — " 

The  train  began  to  move.  She  nodded 
quickly. 

"If  you  want  me,  you'll  know  where  to  find 


AT  HOME  21 

me — for  a  time,  at  least — at  the  hospital  in 
Kingsford.  Ask  for  Miss  Landon.  And  now 
you  had  better  get  off — unless  you  wish  to  add 
to  the  number  of  the  injured. " 

But,  instead  of  getting  off,  he  leaned  forward 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

' '  Since  we  may  not  meet  again, ' '  he  said,  ' '  I 
can  not  go  without  telling  you  how  much  I 
admire  all  that  you  have  done.  I  know  that  it 
doesn't  matter  a  particle  to  you  whether  or  not 
I  admire  it,  but  I  couldn't  help  telling  you.  It 
was  wonderful.    Good-bve!" 

"You  have  done  a  great  deal  yourself,"  she 
answered;  "and  we  may  both  be  glad  that  we 
were  able  to  do  anything.  But  thank  you — and 
now  do  get  off!" 

The  train  was  gathering  dangerous  speed 
when  he  swung  himself  to  the  ground  a  moment 
later.  But  he  landed  safely,  and  then  stood  for 
an  instant,  looking  after  it  as  it  vanished  in  the 
distance  with  its  freight  of  suffering,  maimed 
humanity.  He  was  conscious  of  a  load  lifted 
from  his  spirit  in  the  knowledge  that  he  had 
looked  his  last  on  those  sufferers;  but  he 
thought  of  the  nurse  who  still  stood  at  her 
post — whose  work,  in  fact,  was  just  begin- 
ning— and  was  glad  that  he  had  expressed  a 
little  of  the  admiration  which  he  felt.  What  a 
charming  face  it  was,  too,  with  lucid  gray  eyes 
under  black  lashes,  which  had  looked  at  him  as 
he  spoke!    And  what  a  small  hand — to  be  so 


22  AT  HOME 

capable — had  rested  for  an  instant  in  his! 
Something  in  her  manner  made  him  think  of 
a  Sister  of  Charity  rather  than  of  the  ordinary 
professional  nurse,  and  he  lifted  his  hat  in 
parting  salute  to  the  vanishing  train  that  bore 
her  out  of  his  life. 

It  was  several  hours  later  when  the  remain- 
ing passengers,  together  with  the  bodies  of  the 
dead,  were  removed  from  the  scene  of  the  dis- 
aster; and  dusk  had  fallen  before  they  finally 
reached  Kingsford. 

As  their  train  drew  up  at  the  station,  it  was 
to  find  a  crowd  assembled,  drawn  chiefly  by 
news  of  the  accident,  which  made  it  difficult  for 
Desmond  to  tell  whether  or  not  any  one  was 
there  to  meet  him.  Alighting  from  his  car,  he 
stood  for  a  moment — a  marked  figure  from  his 
height,  his  well-knit  proportions,  his  clear-cut 
features  and  bright  eyes — glancing  out  over 
the  throng  which  filled  the  platform.  It  had 
been  years  since  he  was  in  the  South  before — 
not,  in  fact,  since  his  early  boyhood, — but  the 
familiar  characteristics  of  the  scene  roused  a 
thousand  delightful  memories.  The  soft  air, 
which  enveloped  him  like  a  caress,  seemed  in 
accord  with  the  deliberation  of  movement,  the 
drawling  softness  of  speech,  of  the  people, 
white  and  colored,  who  lounged  around ;  and  he 
was  recalling  with  a  keen  sense  of  pleasure  all 
the  associations  which  these  things  had  for  him, 
when  a  touch  on  his  arm  made  him  turn,  to  meet 


AT  HOME  23 

the  gaze  of  a  wiry  old  man,  with  bronze-colored, 
wrinkled  countenance,  who  was  peering  anx- 
iously into  his  face. 

"Scuse  me,  sail,"  this  dignified  person  said, 
with  a  manner  of  extreme  politeness;  "but 
ain't  you  Mr.  Laurence  Desmond?" 

Desmond  laughed  as  he  grasped  the  hand 
which  touched  him. 

"Why,  Uncle  Hiram,"  he  said,  "are  you  in 
doubt  about  me?  Have  I  changed  as  much  as 
that?" 

"No,  sah, — no,  sah,"  answered  the  old 
Negro,  while  the  smile  which  irradiated  the 
bronze-colored  face  and  deepened  all  its 
wrinkles  was  a  very  wonderful  illumination 
indeed.  "Now  that  I  looks  at  you,  I  sees  you 
is  the  same  little  Mass  Laurie  growed  big.  And 
I'm  mighty  glad  to  find  you  safe  and  well,  sah. 
We  Ve  been  tur  'ble  uneasy  'bout  you  ever  sence 
we  heered  of  the  accident." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry!"  Desmond  exclaimed 
with  quick  compunction.  "I  should  have  sent 
a  message  to  say  that  I  was  safe.  But  I  never 
thought  of  the  news  reaching  Hillcrest.  I  hope 
my  uncle  didn't  hear  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  sah, — nobody  would  'a'  told  the 
Judge !  An'  I  don't  reckon  the  news  has  got  to 
Hillcrest.  But  me  an'  Miss  Edith  was  in  town 
to  meet  the  train,  an'  so  we  heered — " 

1 '  Miss  Edith !    Is  she  here  ? ' ' 

"Yes,    sah, — waitin'    just    outside    in    the 


24  AT  HOME 

ea'iage.  If  you'll  give  me  your  checks,  you  can 
go  right  along  to  her. ' ' 

Desmond  handed  over  his  checks,  surren- 
dered his  suit-case,  and  then  strode  away 
through  the  loitering,  soft-talking  crowd,  to 
where,  outside  the  station,  a  number  of  waiting 
vehicles  stood,  among  which  he  at  once  identi- 
fied an  open  carriage,  on  the  seat  of  which  a 
girl  sat,  holding  the  reins  of  a  pair  of  handsome 
and  rather  restive  horses. 

Turning  her  own  handsome  and  thorough- 
bred head,  she  uttered  a  cry  of  welcome. 

' l  Laurence !  It  is  Laurence  ?  Oh,  I  am  glad 
to  see  you  alive  and — whole!"  Then,  as  her 
outstretched  hand  was  taken  in  the  clasp  of  his : 
"Why  didn't  you  let  us  know  that  you  were 
safe?  We  have  had  the  most  horrible  time, — 
Uncle  Hiram  and  I!  We  dared  not  go  home 
without  you,  and  we  couldn't  learn  whether  you 
were  alive  or  dead. ' ' 

"I'm  really  most  awfully  sorry,"  Desmond 
said  again.  * '  I  never  thought  of  your  being  in 
town,  and  I  hoped  I  would  reach  Hillcrest  be- 
fore news  of  the  accident  did.  Unless  matters 
have  changed  very  much  down  here,  a  train 
more  or  less  late  is  not  unusual. ' ' 

"Not  in  the  least  unusual,  and  mere  delay 
would  have  caused  no  uneasiness.  But  when 
the  demand  for  relief  came,  then  the  news  of 
the  accident  spread,  and  we  knew  it  must  be 
very  serious.    Indeed  we  heard  the  most  awful 


AT  HOME  25 

things, —  that  the  whole  train  was  wrecked,  and 
all  the  passengers  injured  or  killed. ' ' 

' 'It  was  quite  true,  as  far  as  those  in  the 
ordinary  coaches  were  concerned,"  he  said 
gravely.  "I  don't  think  any  one  of  them 
escaped  injury  or  death.  It  was  an  awful 
accident, — one  of  the  worst  of  its  kind.  Don't 
let  us  talk  of  it !  Tell  me  about  my  uncle.  Is 
he  dangerously  ill  ? " 

"He  has  been,  but  the  doctors  think  that,  for 
the  present  at  least,  the  danger  is  past.  He  is 
very  anxious  to  see  you.  It  will  be  a  great 
relief  to  his  mind  that  you  have  come.  I — I 
couldn't  but  think  during  these  hours  of  sus- 
pense what  a  blow  it  would  be  to  him  if  you 
were  killed. ' ' 

Desmond  uttered  an  exclamation.  "It  was 
absolutely  inexcusable  of  me  not  to  have 
relieved  your  anxiety,"  he  said.  "But  it  was 
not  only  that  I  never  thought  of  your  being 
here:  it  was  also  that  I  was  so  absorbed  in 
helping  to  get  the  poor  creatures  out  of  the 
wreck,  in  doing  what  one  could  for  them — " 

"Ah!  then,  you  are  excusable,"  she  told  him 
quickly;  "and  I  won't  say  another  word  about 
my  anxiety.  But  here  comes  Uncle  Hiram  at 
last,  so  now  we  can  get  off." 

"All  right,  missy,"  Uncle  Hiram  said,  as  he 
mounted  with  surprising  agility  to  his  seat  and 
took  the  reins.  "Steve's  got  the  trunk,  an' 
he'll  be  comin'  right  along  after  us." 


26  AT  HOME 

"Then  do  let  us  get  on  as  fast  as  possible/ ' 
the  young  lady  answered;  "for  I  am  afraid  of 
some  word  of  the  accident  reaching  Hillcrest 
before  we  get  there.' ' 

"Nobody  wouldn't  tell  the  Judge,  ef  it  did," 
Hiram  observed  again,  with  reassuring  con- 
fidence. 

Nevertheless,  he  obeyed  the  admonition  to 
drive  as  fast  as  possible;  and  they  whirled 
away  from  the  station  and  its  crowd,  through 
the  streets  of  the  town — one  of  the  old  South- 
ern towns,  painfully  taking  on  an  air  of  new- 
ness and  parting  with  dignity  and  beauty  in 
the  effort  to  be  modern  and  progressive, — and 
out  into  the  open  country,  where  the  dusk  was 
dying  away  over  the  wide  fields,  the  rolling 
hills,  and  tinted  woods.  The  road  lay  smooth 
as  a  floor  before  them ;  the  horses  were  eager ; 
and  Desmond  thought  he  had  never  felt  any- 
thing sweeter  than  the  freshness  of  the  air, 
laden  with  aromatic  scents  of  field  and  forest; 
particularly  with  the  balsamic  fragrance  of  the 
pines,  which  came  to  them  as  they  drove  rapidly 
along.  He  drew  a  deep  breath,  realizing  how 
good  it  was  to  be  alive,  and  feeling  the  horror 
and  tragedy  of  the  afternoon  deepen  rather 
than  lift  from  his  spirit  by  contrast  of  his  lot 
with  that  of  those  who  had  been  so  suddenly 
swept  by  a  terrible  death  into  eternity,  or  who 
at  this  moment  lay  maimed  and  suffering  in  the 
hospital  of  the  town. 


AT  HOME  27 

The  girl  beside  him  heard  him  suddenly 
groan,  and  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  arm. 

"You  are  thinking  of  those  dreadful  things 
again,' '  she  said.  "Don't!  You  did  what  you 
could  for  the  poor  people,  and  now  you  can  do 
nothing  more ;  so  try  to  forget  it  all. ' ' 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  know!"  he  exclaimed. 
"It  seems  positively  awful  that  I  should  be  here 
alive — so  intensely  alive — and  whole,  as  you 
said,  enjoying  rest  and  comfort,  and  this  divine 
air,  while  they — " 

As  his  voice  sank  she  was  conscious  of  the 
shudder  that  again  shook  him. 

"It  is  awful,"  she  agreed.  "But  that  is  life. 
One  suffers  and  another  goes  free,  and  we  don't 
know  why. ' '  Then  she  added  fervently :  "I  am 
glad  I  never  had  to  look  on  such  horrors." 

"And  yet  I  saw  a  girl  as  young  as  you  are 
face  them  unflinching  this  afternoon,"  he  said. 
"It  is  true  she  was  a  trained  nurse,  but  her 
courage  was  wonderful.  She  shrank  from  noth- 
ing,— and  there  were  things  from  which  the 
strongest  man  shrank." 

"If  she  was  a  trained  nurse,  that  explains  it, 
doesn't  it?  They  se^m,  as  a  class,  to  have  lost 
the  power  to  feel  for  suffering." 

"Not  all  of  them,  I  am  sure.  I  don't  think 
this  girl  had,  for  she  was  as  gentle  as  she  was 
brave.  I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  how  she  helped 
some  of  those  poor  creatures.    There  was  one 


28  AT  HOME 

woman  hopelessly  fastened  in  the  wreck,  whose 
hand  she  held  until  she  died." 

"Oh!"  It  was  the  turn  of  the  listener  to 
shudder.  ' '  Don 't  talk  of  it ! "  she  pleaded.  ' '  It 
is  too  dreadful !  Be  thankful  you  are  safe,  and 
try  to  forget  it  all.  Do  you  know,"  with  a  quick 
change  of  tone,  "I  think  it  rather  strange  that 
I  should  have  recognized  you  immediately, 
considering  how  long  it  is  since  I  saw  you  last, 
and  how  young  you  were  then?  Of  course  I 
was  expecting  to  see  you,  but  still  it  was 
strange. ' ' 

"No  stranger  than  that  I  hadn't  a  doubt 
who  you  were,"  he  answered.  "It  indicates 
that  we  made  an  impression  on  each  other." 

"Some  rather  hard  impressions,  if  I  remem- 
ber correctly,"  she  laughed.  "In  default  of  a 
boy,  I  was  occasionally  allowed  the  honor  of 
playing  ball  with  you,  until  various  bruises,  and 
finally  a  tooth  knocked  out,  made  mamma 
forbid  it. ' ' 

' '  I  think, ' '  he  remarked  reminiscently,  ' i  that 
I  carried  the  marks  of  some  of  the  teeth  which 
were  not  knocked  out,  on  my  hand  for  a  long 
time  after  we  parted. ' ' 

"It  served  you  right,  then,  for  the  way  you 
tormented,  and  held  me  a  prisoner  when  I  was 
trying  to  get  free. ' ' 

"What  a  little  tigress  you  were!"  he  said. 
"I  shall  never  forget  how  you  set  your  teeth 


AT  HOME  29 

in  my  hand.  There  was  not  much  delay  in  free- 
ing the  prisoner  after  that." 

They  both  laughed  over  these  childish  recol- 
lections, as  they  drove  onward  over  the  familiar 
road,  with  the  friendly  country  lying  under  its 
soft  mantle  of  darkness  all  about  them.  Pres- 
ently the  wild,  sweet  odors  of  growing  things 
along  a  water-course  was  followed  by  the 
splash  of  the  horses'  feet  in  a  shallow  stream, 
the  gleam  of  the  carriage  lamps  on  the  swirling 
water,  a  sharp  pull  up  the  opposite  bank,  quick 
trotting  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  through  a 
fragrant  valley;  then  gates  were  thrown  open, 
and  the  road  began  to  wind  by  easy  gradients 
around  a  terraced  hill,  to  where  a  large  house, 
blazing  with  lights,  stood  on  the  levelled 
summit. 

As  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  open 
door,  through  which  a  flood  of  radiance  poured 
on  the  gravelled  sweep  before  it,  a  lady  came 
out  and  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stone  steps  of 
the  portico. 

"O  Edith,"  she  cried,  "I'm  glad  to  see  you 
at  last!  What  on  earth  has  kept  you  so  long? 
Hasn't  Laurence  come?" 

"Yes,  Aunt  Rachel,"  Desmond  answered  for 
himself.  "Here  I  am,  and  so  sorry  to  have 
been  the  cause  of  worry  to  you ! ' ' 

He  paused  only  long  enough  to  help  his  com- 
panion out  of  the  carriage ;  and  then,  running 
up  the  steps,  was  greeted  affectionately  by  the 


30  AT  HOME 

lady,  who,  taking  his  arm,  led  him  into  the 
spacious  and  stately  hall,  where  she  paused  to 
look  at  him  with  a  critical  glance  which  quickly 
changed  to  one  of  approval. 

"My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "I  am  delighted 
to  see  you,  and  to  find  you  so — so  much  of  a 
Wargrave !  You  are  amazingly  like  our  family. 
See,  Edith"  (she  glanced  at  several  portraits 
hanging  on  the  walls),  "what  a  striking  like- 
ness to  those!" 

The  girl,  who  had  meanwhile  come  in,  also 
glanced  at  the  portraits  and  then  at  the  tall, 
handsome  young  man.     She  nodded  smilingly. 

"He's  like  them,"  she  said,  "with  some  dif- 
ferences. But  you  had  better  let  him  go  and 
rest  a  bit  before  dinner,  mamma;  for  he  has 
been  in  an  awful  railway  accident — that's  why 
we  are  so  late, — and  come  perilously  near,  hav- 
ing his  good  looks  marred  forever." 


CHAPTER  HI 

A  TEUST 

It  was  still  with  the  pleasant  sense  of 
recalling  old  and  delightful  recollections  that 
Desmond  found  himself,  a  little  later,  following 
a  trim,  chocolate-colored  youth — grandson  of 
Uncle  Hiram — up  the  broad  staircase  which  led 
in  a  wide  circle  around  the  hall  to  the  gallery 
of  the  second  story,  on  which  chambers  and 
corridors  opened.  Aware  of  the  curious 
fashion  in  which  things  and  places  which 
seemed  very  imposing  to  the  eyes  of  childhood 
undergo  a  shrinking  process  when  viewed  in 
later  life,  he  had  not  expected  to  find  Hillcrest 
as  stately  as  his  memory  represented  it;  but,  to 
his  great  surprise,  he  found  that  for  once  mem- 
ory had  not  exaggerated.  This  great  central 
hall,  open  to  the  roof  of  the  house,  was  as  fine 
in  space  and  architectural  proportion  as  any- 
thing of  its  kind  that  he  had  ever  seen 
anywhere ;  and  the  sweep  of  the  noble  staircase, 
as  it  circled  the  picture-hung  walls  and  climbed 
upward  to  a  turret  on  the  roof,  was  a  delight 
to  the  eye.  So  likewise  he  found  the  spacious 
chamber  into  which  he  was  ushered  even  more 

31 


32  A  TKUST 

handsome  than  his  recollection;  for  a  boy  of 
twelve  could  scarcely  have  been  expected  to 
appreciate  the  splendid  old  carved  mahogany 
of  the  canopied  bed  and  massive  wardrobe. 

After  the  servant  had  been  dismissed,  he 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  aronnd  him,  con- 
scions  of  a  thrill  of  pride,  as  he  realized,  more 
distinctly  than  ever  before,  what  a  fine  old 
house,  full  of  the  intangible  essence  of  a 
wealthy  and  aristocratic  past,  this  home  of  his 
mother's  family  was.  For  a  century  and  a 
half  the  Wargraves  had  been  planted  here, 
owning  many  thousands  of  acres,  of  which  the 
original  deeds  were  from  the  Lords  Propri- 
etors, who  held  the  Carolinas  under  grant  of 
the  British  Crown ;  and,  though  war  had  taken 
tithe  of  these  wide  acres  and  diminished  their 
value,  enough  still  remained  to  form  a  magnifi- 
cent heritage.  The  house,  replacing  an  earlier 
Colonial  structure,  had  been  built  in  the  first 
half  of  the  nineteenth  century,  before  modern 
machinery  and  modern  methods  were  in  vogue ; 
and  it  was,  therefore,  not  only  nobly  planned — 
for  which  his  descendants  had  to  thank  the 
Wargrave  of  the  day,  who  had  travelled  long 
abroad, — but  all  its  details  of  carved  wood  and 
finely  executed  designs  in  plaster  showed  the 
conscientiousness  of  the  old  workmanship  and 
handcraft. 

In  the  ante-bellum  South,  such  homes, 
remaining  in  the  same  family  from  generation 


A  TRUST  33 

to  generation,  were  not  nncommon;  but  under 
changed  conditions,  and  the  ever-encroaching 
inroads  of  democracy,  their  number  has  grown 
so  much  less  that  the  Wargrave  estate  had 
become  somewhat  a  matter  of  wonder.  "How 
has  it  been  held  intact ?"  strangers  asked, 
knowing  the  conditions  of  ordinary  American 
life.  And  even  the  oldest  inhabitants  of  the 
country  could  only  answer,  "There's  some  sort 
of  a  family  trust  which  has  never  been 
violated. ' ' 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  only  in  the  family 
that  this  trust  was  thoroughly  understood,  and 
held  as  a  binding  obligation,  which  no  War- 
grave  had  ever  failed  to  observe.  Even  Des- 
mond had  but  a  vague  idea  of  its  conditions, 
which  was  natural  enough,  seeing  that  they 
seemed  to  concern  him  very  little ;  and  what  he 
knew  was  drawn  from  sayings  of  his  mother, 
who  had  died  when  he  was  very  young.  His 
father — a  gay  and  gallant  young  Irish  soldier 
of  fortune  in  the  Confederate  service — had  met 
the  daughter  of  the  Wargraves  during  the  war, 
swept  her  away  by  his  tempestuous  wooing, 
overcome  the  family  opposition  founded  upon 
his  nationality  and  his  religion,  and,  after  their 
marriage,  carried  his  wife  abroad  with  him, 
where  he  had  become  a  famous  war  corres- 
pondent, and  was  finally  killed  in  one  of  the 
Egyptian  campaigns.  Laurence,  the  only  child 
of  the  marriage,  had  adopted  his  father's  pro- 


34  A  TKUST 

fession;  and  it  was  now  in  obedience  to  a 
summons  from  his  nncle,  his  mother's  only 
brother,  that  he  found  himself  in  the  old  home 
of  her  family. 

What  the  summons,  which  had  been  of  a  very 
imperative  nature,  meant,  he  had  no  clear  idea. 
It  was  only  now  that  he  began  to  consider  this, 
and  paused  in  the  midst  of  his  toilet  to  ask 
himself  what  he  knew  of  the  family  situation 
and  affairs.  Really,  it  was  very  little.  He 
knew  that  his  uncle,  Judge  Wargrave,  had  had 
a  son — he  remembered  clearly  hearing  his 
mother  speak  of  him — but  what  had  become  of 
this  son  he  did  not  know,  not  even  whether  he 
were  living  or  dead.  He  knew  only  that  silence 
had  wrapped  the  name  when  he  had  been  at 
Hillcrest  as  a  boy;  only  the  old  servants  had 
now  and  then  let  drop  a  word  about  "Mass 
Harry.' '  So  it  seemed  that,  for  some  unex- 
plained reason,  the  natural  Wargrave  heir  had 
ceased  to  be  a  factor  in  the  family  life.  Well, 
then,  there  remained  only  his  aunt,  Mrs. 
Creighton,  a  childless  widow,  and  himself;  for 
his  aunt's  stepdaughter — the  handsome  girl 
who  had  met  him  in  Kingsford — although  she 
had  grown  up  in  the  house,  and  was  a  great 
favorite  of  his  uncle,  had  of  course  no  part  in 
the  family  inheritance. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  took  up  his 
dinner  coat. 

"It  looks,' '  he  said  aloud,  "as  if  the  War- 


A  TEUST  35 

graves  had  nearly  come  to  an  end  as  a  family." 
And  then  a  sudden  shudder  shook  him  again, 
as  he  realized  once  more  how  nearly  in  his  own 
person  this  end  had  been  to  coming  to  pass  that 
afternoon. 

The  musical  chime  of  a  Japanese  gong  sound- 
ing below,  told  him  that  dinner  was  ready ;  and, 
stepping  out  on  the  circular  gallery,  he  paused 
for  an  instant,  arrested  by  the  picture-like 
beauty  of  the  scene  beneath.  A  hanging  lamp 
threw  its  soft  lustre  down  on  a  large  Oriental 
rug,  which  covered  the  centre  of  the  parqueted 
hall ;  a  square  mahogany  table,  with  elaborately 
carved  legs  and  feet,  was  strewn  with  books 
and  papers;  and  by  its  side,  turning  over  a 
mass  of  newly  arrived  mail,  Edith  Creighton 
stood — a  radiant,  graceful  figure,  with  her 
richly  colored  face  and  brunette  head  rising 
above  the  lace  gown  that  showed  her  slender 
proportions — while  she  talked  to  her  step- 
mother, who  sat  in  a  deep,  cushioned  chair  on 
the  other  side  of  the  table.  At  sound  of  his 
closing  door,  she  lifted  her  face  and  looked  up. 

"Yes,  that  meant  dinner,"  she  called  out  to 
him  gaily,  her  voice  as  clear  and  sweet  in 
timbre  as  the  beautiful  metal  which  had  just 
been  struck  where  it  hung  by  the  dining-room 
door.    * '  Come  down ! ' ' 

He  needed  no  second  bidding,  but,  running 
down  lightly,  offered  his  arm,  with  a  word  of 
apology,  to  his  aunt,  and  led  her  through  the 


36  A  TRUST 

open  door,  where  the  same  chocolate-colored 
youth  stood  at  attention  like  a  soldier,  into  the 
spacious  dining-room,  with  its  beautifully  dec- 
orated ceiling  in  high  relief,  its  massive,  silver- 
laden  sideboard,  and  its  table  set  with  old  East 
Indian  china.  It  was  a  table  compressed  to  its 
smallest  circular  limit  for  the  small  party  of 
three ;  and  as  dish  after  dish  of  the  distinctively 
Southern  cuisine  was  served,  with  wine  that 
had  mellowed  for  many  years  in  the  cellar 
below,  Desmond,  looking  at  the  two  charming 
women  who  were  his  companions,  felt  increas- 
ingly conscious  that  Fate  had  been  very  kind  to 
him  indeed.  By  tacit  consent,  all  mention  of 
the  railway  accident  and  its  horrors  was 
avoided;  and  the  talk  rippled  lightly  and 
pleasantly  over  old  recollections,  and  his  later 
experiences  of  flood  and  field,  until  dinner  was 
over,  when,  declining  to  smoke,  he  accompanied 
the  ladies  into  the  library,  which,  as  he  well 
remembered,  was  the  family  sitting-room. 

"How  unchanged  everything  is,  and  how 
perfectly  charming !"  he  said,  as  he  sat  down 
and  glanced  around  the  room,  with  its  dwarf 
bookcases,  above  which  hung  priceless  old  line 
engravings;  its  writing  table,  with  double 
student's  lamp;  its  deep  easy-chairs,  and  moss- 
green  carpet,  in  which  the  foot  sank  sound- 
lessly. "I  didn't  know  how  well  I  remembered 
things  until  I  see  how  familiar  they  all  are. 
And  what  a  treasure-house  of  objects  for  which 


A  TRUST  37 

a  modern  collector  would  give  his  eyes !  Really, 
Aunt  Rachel,  I  wonder  how  even  at  Hillcrest 
you  have  managed  to  keep  them  all. ' ' 

Mrs.  Creighton  lifted  her  delicate  brows 
slightly. 

"My  dear  boy,"  she  remonstrated,  "what 
would  have  become  of  them?  One  doesn't  give 
away  one's  old  furniture  and  pictures  and 
china. ' ' 

"No,  of  course  not,"  he  agreed.  "But  very 
few  people  have  so  much  of  all  these  things." 

"Oh,  well" — and  now  the  tone  was  careless 
enough — "that  is  easily  understood!  The 
Wargraves  have  always,  especially  before  the 
war,  been  able  to  get  what  they  pleased,  and 
they  pleased  to  get  the  best.  It  was  like  this 
house,  which  my  grandfather — your  great- 
grandfather— built.  He  allowed  nothing  com- 
mon, not  even  a  badly  made  brick,  to  enter  into 
it.  The  Wargraves  have  always  been  like  that. 
They  cared  only  for  the  best  of  everything. ' ' 

"So  it  seems,"  observed  the  young  man, 
with  another  comprehensive  glance  around. 
"Nevertheless,  I  can't  but  wonder  a  little  how 
it  has  all  been  held  together  for — more  than  a 
century  and  a  half,  isn't  it?  It's  like  the  old 
country,  not  at  all  like  America." 

Mrs.  Creighton  cleared  her  throat,  and 
seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment — a  moment  in 
which  Desmond  was  aware  that  Edith  glanced 
at  him  curiously — before  she  said: 


38  A  TRUST 

"That's  just  it.  It  is  like  the  old  country. 
You  know  we  are  descended  from  the  younger 
son  of  an  old  English  family ;  and  it  seems  that 
his  intention  in  coming  over  here  was  to  found 
a  branch  of  the  house  which  should  equal  the 
elder  branch  in  wealth  and  importance.  The 
Eevolution  was  a  great  blow  to  him — he  was 
then  an  old  man,  so  his  Royalist  sentiments  did 
not  attract  much  attention,  or  he  might  have 
fared  badly — and  after  it  was  over  he  tried  to 
devise  some  means  of  still  accomplishing  his 
object.  It  was  difficult,  because  you  know  the 
entailing  of  property  was  forbidden  by  law,  and 
without  entailed  property  you  can  not  have  a 
family. ' ' 

Desmond  nodded.  "That's  just  what  I've 
been  thinking,"  he  said.  "How  did  he 
manage ! ' ' 

"He  entailed  the  estate  as  far  as  he  could," 
Mrs.  Creighton  answered;  "and  laid  it  as  a 
trust,  binding  in  honor,  if  not  in  law,  on  his 
descendants  to  renew  the  entail  whenever  it 
lapsed — that  is,  in  every  third  generation.  He 
gave  clear  directions  how  this  was  to  be  done. 
The  property  was  always  to  be  entailed  on  the 
oldest  son;  or,  failing  a  son,  on  the  oldest  son 
of  the  oldest  daughter — " 

"But,  good  heavens!"  (the  young  man  sat 
up  in  his  surprise),  "how  were  the  other 
children  to  be  provided  for?" 

"There  was  no  trouble  about  that — at  least 


A  TRUST  39 

before  the  war.  The  income  from  the  estate 
was  so  immense  that  it  was  easy  to  make  invest- 
ments which  secured  comfortable  fortunes  for 
them.  It  was  only  Hillcrest  and  its  fifty  thou- 
sand acres  which  was  to  be  kept  entailed.  There 
were  other  plantations  bought  from  time  to 
time  and  settled  on  sons  and  daughters.' ' 

"And  did  no  one  ever  object — ever  try  to 
break  the  arrangement  V ' 

"Never.  To  maintain  the  entail  unbroken 
has  been  a  matter  of  the  greatest  pride  with 
every  member  of  the  family.  Of  one  thing  we 
can  boast :  no  Wargrave  has  ever  tried  to  break 
or  evade  the  trust,  and  none  has  ever  been  a 
waster.  After  the  war,  some  of  the  land  of 
the  original  grant  had  to  be  sold ;  it  was  impos- 
sible, under  changed  conditions  of  labor,  to  hold 
it  all—  " 

"Oh — excuse  my  interrupting  you! — but  I 
thought  you  said  it  was  entailed  and  could  not 
be  sold!" 

Again  he  was  conscious  of  a  quick,  curious 
glance  from  Edith's  large  dark  eyes,  as  his 
aunt  answered : 

"You  haven't  understood.  It  can  only  be 
entailed,  according  to  law,  for  one  generation. 
Then  the  entail  lapses  and  must  be  renewed." 

"Ah,  I  see!  And  it  lapsed  with  my  uncle, 
leaving  him  free  ? ' ' 

"Yes ;  and  it  was  fortunate  that  it  did.  If  at 
that  time  he  had  not  been  able  to  sell  twentv 


40  A  TKUST 

thousand  acres,  and  so  relieve  the  estate  of — 
certain  burdens,  I  don't  know  what  would  have 
become  of  us. ' ' 

"But  of  course  since  then  he  has  renewed  the 
entail  ?" 

The  words  were  spoken  before  Desmond 
thought,  and  it  was  the  look  on  his  aunt's  face 
that  enlightened  him.  Into  her  eyes,  as  they 
turned  on  him  there  flashed  the  same  keen, 
curious  glance  that  had  twice  shone  in  Edith's. 
Catching  it,  he  felt  himself  flush  as  if  convicted 
of  an  intolerable  betise. 

"No,"  Mrs.  Creighton  said,  in  a  rather  con- 
strained tone.    "He  has  not  renewed  it — yet." 

Then  silence  fell,  and  Desmond  was  grateful 
to  Edith  when  she  broke  it  with  a  light  laugh. 

"Aren't  you  tired  of  family  history?"  she 
asked.  "And  yet  it  is  just  as  well,  considering 
your  evident  ignorance,  that  it  has  been  some- 
what enlightened  before  you  see  Uncle  George. 
I  am  afraid  he  would  be  shocked  if  he  learned 
how  little  you  knew  of  the  sacred  Wargrave 
trust." 

"You  see  I've  lived  so  far  away  from  it  all," 
he  said  apologetically,  "and — and  it  didn't 
seem  to  concern  me  at  all.  When  do  you  think 
I  shall  be  able  to  see  my  uncle  f "  he  asked,  turn- 
ing to  his  aunt.  "Not  this  evening,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"Yes,  I  fancy  he  will  send  for  you  pres- 
ently," she  answered.     "He  is  so  anxious  to 


A  TEUST  41 

see  you  that  I  don't  think  he  will  wait  until 
to-morrow.  I  wish  he  would — it  is  not  well  for 
him  to  be  excited  at  night, — but  there  is  no  pos- 
sible means  of  preventing  his  doing  as  he 
pleases.' ' 

' ' If  he  is  an  invalid,  doesn't  the  doctor  order 
what  he  must  or  mustn't  do?" 

Mrs.  Creighton  shook  her  head.  "You  don't 
know  your  uncle."  she  said.  "He  has  all  his 
life  been  so  arbitrary  that  he  will  obey  no 
orders,  unless  he  wishes  to  do  so.  That  makes 
treatment  of  his  case  very  difficult." 

"Rather,  I  should  think,"  the  young  man 
laughed.  "By  the  by,  what  is  the  matter  with 
him  exactly?" 

"He  has  had  an  apoplectic  seizure,  what  the 
doctors  call  a  cerebral  hemorrhage;  and  when 
we  telegraphed  for  you  his  condition  was  very 
critical.  But  he  has  rallied  in  a  most  wonderful 
manner,  considering  his  age.  His  mind  seems 
now  quite  clear,  and  he  has  almost  entirely 
regained  the  power  of  speech — " 

"Oh!  He  had  lost  that?" 

"For  a  few  days,  yes;  and  even  yet  he  con- 
fuses names  and  words  a  little,  but  nothing  to 
matter.  It  will  be  the  greatest  possible  relief 
to  him  that  you  have  come,  and  I  am  so  glad 
that  he  should  be  relieved.  Ah"  (she  glanced 
at  the  door),  "here  is  a  message  from  him 
now!" 

A  middle-aged  colored  man,  of  the  same  dig- 


42 


A  TRUST 


nified  type  as  the  rest  of  the  household,  stood 
in  the  open  door,  and  bowed  slightly  as  he 
addressed  her : 

"The  Judge  says  that  he'd  like  to  see  Mr. 
Desmond  now,  Miss  Eachel.,, 

Desmond  rose,  and  looked  at  his  aunt. 

"Are  you  coming  with  me!"  he  asked. 

1 '  Oh,  no ! ' '  she  answered.  i  i  Virgil  will  show 
you  the  way,  and  your  uncle  will  wish  to  see  you 
alone.  I  would  tell  you  not  to  stay  too  long, 
only  it  will  not  depend  on  you — " 

"Yes,  it  will,"  Desmond  interposed.  "I  shall 
not  allow  myself  to  be  detained  very  long.  I 
suppose  I  shall  find  you  here  a  little  later? 
Well,  then,  lead  on,  Virgil;  though  I  think  I 
remember  the  way." 


CHAPTER  IV 

LAUEENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE 

Desmond  remembered  the  way  so  well  that  it 
was  like  walking  in  a  dream  of  the  past,  when 
he  went  up  the  sweeping  staircase,  around  the 
circular  gallery,  and  into  a  corridor  that  opened 
from  the  last,  and  led  to  the  apartments  of  the 
owner  of  the  house.  He  recalled  these  well :  the 
two  chambers  opposite  to  each  other, — one  that 
of  his  uncle;  the  other  that  of  the  latter 's  wife, 
still  kept  just  as  she  left  it,  although  she  had 
been  dead  for  twenty  years, — and  the  sitting- 
room  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  on  which  both 
chambers  opened.  It  was  a  delightful  suite  in 
its  seclusion  and  spaciousness,  occupying  the 
entire  wing,  with  windows  on  either  side  over- 
looking the  beautiful  country;  and  it  was  here 
that  Desmond  always  thought  of  his  uncle, 
seated  at  his  private  desk,  or  in  a  deep  arm- 
chair reading  in  the  great  bay-window  at  the 
end  of  the  sitting-room. 

And  so,  when  Virgil,  opening  the  door,  stood 
aside  to  let  him  enter,  he  found  the  familiar 
figure  now, — seated  in  the  same  old-fashioned, 
winged  chair,  by  a  table  which  bore  a  shaded 

43 


44     LAURENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE 

lamp  and  several  books  and  newspapers.  At 
first  he  thought  there  was  little  change  in  the 
face  turned  toward  him  as  he  eagerly  crossed 
the  floor.  But  when  he  took  the  hand  extended 
to  meet  his  own,  and  looked  more  closely,  he 
saw  that  years  and  illness  had  wrought  great 
change  in  the  handsome,  stately  man  he  remem- 
bered, with  his  manner  of  somewhat  judicial 
severity,  tempered  by  the  exquisite  courtesy 
and  fine  manners  of  the  old  social  order.  The 
white  pallor  of  age  was  on  the  face  now,  the 
chiselled  features  were  drawn,  and  the  eyes, 
though  still  bright,  were  sunken  under  their 
overhanging  brows.  About  the  broad  brow, 
which  showed  the  intellectual  qualities  that  had 
made  him  one  of  the  first  jurists  of  his  day, 
the  hair  lay  in  silken  waves  of  silvery  white- 
ness ;  and  altogether  it  seemed  to  Desmond  that 
he  had  never  seen  a  presence  more  striking, 
more  full  of  the  aroma  and  charm  of  inherited 
culture  and  vanished  aristocratic  conditions. 

"My  dear  uncle,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  bent 
over  the  figure  and  clasped  close  the  frail  hand, 
"how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again, — and  to  see 
you  so  much  better  than  I  expected  to  find 
you ! ' ' 

"Yes,  I  am  better,"  his  uncle  replied,  speak- 
ing with  a  certain  slow  precision,  as  if  not  quite 
sure  of  his  power  of  enunciation;  "and  very 
glad  to  see  you,  my  dear  boy.  What  made  you 
so  long  in  coming f" 


LAURENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE     45 

1 1 1  was  out  of  the  country  when  your  message 
reached  me,"  the  young  man  responded,  as  he 
sat  down  in  a  chair  to  which  the  other  pointed. 
' '  I  had  gone  abroad  for  my  paper — they  wanted 
an  account  of  affairs  in  the  Balkans, — but  I 
threw  up  the  matter  and  returned  by  the  first 
steamer." 

"Yes,  I  know.  It  was  very  good  of  you,"  the 
slow  voice  answered.  ' '  But  to-day — what  made 
you  so  late  to-day?" 

"I'm  sorry  to  say  there  was  a  bad  accident 
to  my  train — a  collision  with  a  freight  train 
about  twenty  miles  north  of  Kihgsford, — which 
delayed  my  arrival  several  hours." 

"A  collision!  "  Judge  Wargrave  leaned  for- 
ward into  the  brighter  circle  of  the  lamplight, 
with  a  more  shocked  and  startled  expression  on 
his  face  than  the  news  seemed  to  warrant,  con- 
sidering the  safe  and  sound  condition  of  the 
young  man  who  sat  before  him.  "Was — any 
one  injured?" 

' '  Many  were  injured  and  several  were  killed. 
It  was  an  awful  accident. ' ' 

"My  God!"  The  old  figure  shook  as  if  with 
palsy.    * '  You  might  have  been  killed ! ' ' 

"I  might,  of  course,"  Desmond  said;  "only, 
you  see,  I  was  in  the  Pullman,  which,  as  usual, 
withstood  the  shock.  No  one  on  it  was  hurt, 
but  all  the  passengers  in  the  other  coaches  were 
either  killed  or  fearfully  injured.  It  was  the 
old  story, ' '  he  observed  a  little  bitterly.    '  i  I  had 


46     LAURENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE 

money  enough  to  pay  the  additional  cost  of 
transportation  in  a  well-built  car,  so  I  escaped 
uninjured,  while  the  poor  creatures  who  had  to 
take  what  the  railroad  company  provides  were 
hurled  to  horrible  death  in  its  flimsy  coaches.' ' 

"Yes,  it  is,  as  you  say,  an  old  story  and  a 
shameful  state  of  affairs,' '  his  uncle  agreed. 
"In  the  suits  for  damages  arising  out  of  such 
cases,  I  have  never  failed,  in  my  charges  to  the 
jury,  to  place  the  responsibility  on  the  rail- 
roads— for  which,"  he  added,  a  faint  smile 
curving  his  thin  lips,  "they  have  never  failed 
to  antagonize  me  in  every  way.  But  as  for  the 
safety  to  be  bought  by  money — well,  that  is  an 
old  story,  too.  We  can't  change  the  conditions 
on  which  the  world  rests,  my  boy.  I  hope"  (a 
little  anxiously)  "you  haven't  taken  up  any  of 
the  modern  socialistic  ideas?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  Desmond  answered  readily.  "A 
Catholic  can't  very  well  entertain  socialistic 
ideas,  you  know,  sir." 

"Oh!"  A  shade  of  reserve,  of  something 
like  displeasure,  came  into  the  voice  now.  "I 
had  forgotten  that  you  are  a — Catholic.  It 
seems  as  if  you  might  have  adopted  your 
mother's  religion." 

"My  mother  was  received  into  the  Church 
before  she  died, ' '  Desmond  reminded  him. 

The  thin  white  hand  waved  a  little  im- 
patiently. 

i '  It  was  a  pity  that  she  yielded  so  far  to  your 


LATTKENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE  47 

father's  influence,' '  Judge  Wargrave  said  in 
his  most  judicial  tone.  "People  should  be  loyal 
to  the  inherited  beliefs  of  those  who  went 
before  them.  Well,  well,  we  won't  discuss  the 
matter!  I'm  sorry  that  you  have  such  a 
religion ;  but  we  must  make  the  best  of  it.  You 
are  the  only  one  left  to  carry  on  the  old  name — 
I  suppose,"  he  broke  off  abruptly,  "you  know 
that  is  why  I  sent  for  you  1 ' ' 

"No,"  Desmond  told  him  honestly,  "I  didn't 
know.  I  have  never  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
You  see,  I  belong  to  another  family." 

"You  are  a  Wargrave,"  his  uncle  returned 
positively, — "the  only  one  in  your  generation." 
A  quick  spasm  of  feeling  seemed  to  pass  over 
the  fine  old  face  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
added  a  little  wistfully:  "You  are  very  like 
our  family  in  appearance.  I  am  glad — very 
glad — of  that. ' ' 

Desmond  understood  now  the  full  meaning 
of  the  words  which  had  been  his  aunt's  first 
greeting, — the  significance  of  her  outburst  of 
gratitude  that  he  resembled  the  Wargrave 
portraits  hanging  below.  Clearly,  it  was  hard 
to  Wargrave  pride  that  the  only  representative 
of  their  proud  old  stock  should  be  in  a  certain 
sense  an  alien,  the  son  of  an  Irish  soldier  of 
fortune,  bearing  the  name  of  a  disliked  nation- 
ality. And  the  single  solace  was  that  the  strong 
Wargrave  type  had  stamped  itself  upon  him, 
and  that,  in  physical  aspect  at  least,  he  was 


48     LAURENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE 

clearly  a  son  of  the  house.  Realizing  now  what 
this  meant  to  his  uncle,  the  young  man  smiled 
a  little. 

"I  am  glad,  too,  if  it  pleases  you,  sir,"  he 
said.  "It  is  certainly  a  family  of  which  to  be 
proud. ' ' 

"Yes,"  the  older  man  agreed,  "it  is.  "We 
have  always  been  proud  of  it — we  who  bear  the 
name, — and  of  nothing  more  proud  than  of  the 
standard  of  honor  maintained  since  the  first 
Wargrave  set  foot  in  the  New  World  nearly 
two  hundred  years  ago.  You  know — youVe 
heard  of  course — of  the  trust  which  has  kept 
the  family  in  its  high  position?" 

Desmond  assented.  "I  have  heard  of  it,"  he 
said,  without  mentioning  how  lately  he  had 
heard.  ' '  It  indicates  a  fine  spirit,  that  the  obli- 
gation to  maintain  the  entail  has  never  been 
disregarded. ' ' 

"I  don't  think  that  any  one  has  ever  for  an 
instant  entertained  an  idea  of  disregarding  it," 
his  uncle  said.  "But  there  is  a  point,  besides 
that  of  maintaining  the  entail,  in  the  trust,  of 
which  you  may  not  have  heard;  for  it  is  not 
generally  known."  He  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  again  Desmond  saw  a  quick  spasm  of 
repressed  feeling  pass  over  the  clear-cut  face, 
as  it  leaned  forward  in  the  lamplight.  "Even 
more  binding  than  the  entail, ' '  the  slow,  careful 
utterance  went  on,  "is  an  obligation  not  to 
hand  the  inheritance  on  to  any  one  who  has  in 


LAUKENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE     49 

any  manner  stained  the  name  with  dishonor." 
Something  in  the  tone  more  than  in  the  words 
made  Desmond  start.  An  intuition  came  to  him 
like  a  flash.  This  was  what  it  meant,  the  old 
silence  and  mystery  about  the  absent  cousin, 
which  had  puzzled  him  in  his  boyhood. 
Whether  dead  or  living,  he,  the  son  of  the 
house,  whose  name  was  never  spoken,  had  evi- 
dently in  some  manner  forfeited  his  birthright. 
He  was  as  sure  of  it  now  as  if  the  man,  who 
seemed  a  typical  embodiment  of  justice  un- 
swayed by  mercy,  sitting  there  before  him,  had 
stated  the  fact  in  distinct  words.  He  had  a 
sense  of  touching  tragedy,  the  more  intense 
because  denied  expression;  and  his  eyes  were 
large  and  bright  with  dismay  as  he  looked  at 
his  uncle. 

"It  seems/ '  he  said  involuntarily,  "a  hard 
obligation. ' ' 

"No,"  Judge  Wargrave's  voice  rang  clear 
and  firm  now  in  its  force  of  denial.  "It  is  not 
hard,  but  right  and  just.  As  a  man  sows,  so 
should  he  reap — always.  To  maintain  his 
honor,  to  hand  on  the  family  name  unstained, 
has  been  the  paramount  obligation  of  every 
Wargrave.  If — if  one  forgot  it,  and  disgraced 
not  only  himself  but  those  who  went  before  and 
were  to  come  after  him,  it  was  simple  justice 
that  he  should  be  a  branch  cut  off  and  disowned, 
and  that  another  should  take  his  place  and 
inheritance." 


50  LAURENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE 

The  stern,  passionless  tones  brought  a  lump 
into  Desmond's  throat.  Again  he  was  con- 
scious of  an  overpowering  sense  of  tragedy, — 
an  instinct,  amounting  to  a  conviction,  that  this 
room  had  echoed  to  such  tones  before,  that  they 
had  fallen  upon  a  human  soul  bare  in  its  agony, 
and  that  he  was  here  now  to  take  the  place  of 
the  man  who  had  then  been  cut  off  and  dis- 
owned. An  intense  distaste  for  filling  such  a 
position  rose  within  him,  and  once  more  he  was 
driven  to  remonstrance. 

"You  must  forgive  me,"  he  said,  "if  it 
strikes  me  as  almost  terrible,  an  obligation 
which  binds  men  to  mercilessness,  to  denying 
forgiveness  to  error, — a  chance  to  repair,  to 
atone — " 

The  frown  on  the  face  regarding  him  made 
him  pause  in  his  speech,  suddenly  aware  of  its 
futility. 

'  i  I  am  sorry, ' '  said  his  uncle,  coldly,  ' '  to  see 
that  you  have  the  modern  lax  idea,  which,  in 
mercy  to  the  individual,  forgets  what  is  due  to 
the  society  or  the  family  he  has  injured.  All 
law,  human  and  divine,  is  founded  on  what  you 
call  merciless  justice, — on  the  wrongdoer  suf- 
fering the  penalty  of  his  crime.' ' 

"Not  divine,  surely!"  Desmond  found  him- 
self protesting.  "In  that  there  is  room  for 
forgiveness. ' ' 

The  frown  deepened,  the  face  in  the  lamp- 
light was  austere  indeed  now, — the  face  of  the 


LAURENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE     51 

judge  pronouncing  sentence,  armed  with  the 
power  and  majesty  of  law. 

' '  Almighty  God, ' '  the  firm  tones  said,  ' i  reads 
the  hearts  of  men  and  knows  what  we  can  never 
know  of  their  guilt  or  innocence.  Human  law 
can  only  judge  outward  actions,  and  must,  for 
the  greater  good  of  the  greater  number,  be 
merciless  in  exacting  the  penalty  of  wrong- 
doing. Let  us  speak  no  more  of  this.  I  only 
wish  you  to  understand  fully  the  trust  handed 
down  with  the  Wargrave  inheritance,  no  part  of 
which  has  never  been  violated. " 

He  paused  and  lay  back  in  his  chair,  silent 
for  a  moment;  then,  before  Desmond  could 
speak,  resumed  in  a  lower  voice : 

"I  feel  that  I  have  been  greatly  to  blame.  I 
have  deferred  the  imperative  duty  of  fulfilling 
the  trust,  which  it  has  fallen  to  me  to  fulfil, 
through  a  weakness — a  vain  hope,  vainly 
indulged — which  has  come  near  to  being  most 
terribly  punished.  When  I  was  taken  ill,  when 
I  realized  what  had  befallen  me,  when  for  days 
my  tongue  would  not  utter  the  words  I  wished 
to  say,  a  great  terror  seized  me :  I  saw  myself 
dying  without  having  fulfilled  the  trust, — I,  the 
first  Wargrave  who  had  ever  failed  to  do  so! 
I  can  not  express  my  agony — or  my  gratitude 
when  I  found  speech  restored  to  me ;  and  I  have 
counted  the  days  until  you  came.  If  I  had 
known  how  near  you  were  to  death,  almost  at 
the  threshold  of  my  house,  this  afternoon — " 


52     LAUEENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE 

he  lifted  his  hand  to  his  eyes,  as  if  overpowered 
by  the  thought,  and  again  a  strong  shndder 
shook  his  frame.  "If  you  had  died,"  he  went 
on  brokenly,  "my  punishment  would  have 
seemed  more  than  I  could  bear.  But  you  are 
here  safe;  and  my  will  is  there"  (he  pointed  to 
his  desk)  "ready  to  be  signed.  I  have  done 
nothing  but  practise  writing  my  signature  since 
I  began  to  be  able  to  use  my  hand  again.  Per- 
haps you  wonder  why  I  have  waited  for  your 
arrival  to  sign  it?"  (Desmond's  face  had  ex- 
pressed his  surprise.)  "It  was  because  I  must 
have  your  solemn  promise  that  you  will,  as  far 
as  lies  in  your  power,  fulfil  all  the  conditions  of 
the  trust — " 

Involuntarily  a  cry  forced  itself  from  the 
young  man's  lips. 

"You  can't  mean,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  I  am 
to  carry  it  on — to  receive  the  family  inheri- 
tance I ' ' 

Almost  sternly,  the  vivid  eyes  under  the 
overhanging  brows  met  his  own. 

"What  else  could  I  mean!"  Judge  WargraVe 
asked.  "Who  else  is  there  to  receive  and  carry 
on  inheritance  and  trust!  To-morrow  I  will 
explain  everything  to  you;  and  then,  when  I 
have  your  promise,  I  will  sign  what  has  waited 
so  long  for  signature,  and  be  ready  to  die  in 
peace.  Now  I  am  a  little  tired,  and  we  must 
take  no  risks  until  the  will  is  signed.  So  you 
had  better  go.    Thank  God,  you  are  here  at  last! 


LAURENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE     53 

I  shall  sleep  well  in  thinking  of  it.  Good- 
night ! ' ' 

As  he  echoed  the  salutation,  while  clasping 
again  the  old  hand  extended  to  him,  Desmond 
recalled  with  a  certain  sense  of  amusement  his 
confident  assurance  to  his  aunt  that  he  would 
not  allow  himself  to  be  detained  beyond  what 
he  thought  a  proper  time.  He  knew  now  that  it 
would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  suggest 
departure  or  anything  else  in  opposition  to  the 
steel-like  will  which  the  frail  but  indomitable 
personality  before  him  breathed. 

"I  am  glad  to  be  here,  and  that  my  coming 
has  brought  you  relief,  sir, ' '  he  said.  Then,  as 
he  turned  to  go  away,  Judge  Wargrave  struck 
a  bell  which  stood  on  the  table  near  his  hand. 
Before  its  silvery  sound  had  died,  the  door 
swung  open,  and  Virgil  appeared,  standing 
with  the  same  grave  dignity  of  bearing  on  the 
threshold,  to  usher  him  out. 

When  he  found  himself  downstairs  again, 
Desmond  hesitated  a  little.  Through  the  open 
door  of  the  library  he  saw  his  aunt  reading 
within;  but  from  an  adjoining  room  the  sound 
of  a  piano,  softly  played,  told  him  that  Edith 
was  there,  and  after  a  minute  he  entered  the 
latter  apartment. 

It  was  a  large  and  beautiful  drawing-room, 
stately  in  its  dimensions,  in  its  pillared 
chimney-piece   of   Italian   marble,    and   lofty, 


54     LAUEENCE  MEETS  HIS  UNCLE 

stuccoed  ceiling,  filled  with  lovely  old  furniture, 
among  which  a  few  modern  articles  appeared. 

One  of  these  was  the  handsome  piano  at 
which  Edith  sat ;  while,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  the  small  quaint  ancestor  of  this  later 
instrument  stood  on  straight,  slender  legs  in  its 
case  of  delicately  inlaid  wood.  Desmond  fan- 
cied a  fair  ghost,  in  scant,  high-waisted  frock, 
seated  at  it,  drawing  from  the  yellow  old  keys 
thin,  sweet  melodies,  which  only  the  ears  of  the 
spirit  heard ;  while  the  graceful  figure  opposite 
was  modulating  some  of  the  most  intensely 
modern  music.  He  sat  down  beside  her  and 
waited  until  she  presently  paused  and  looked 
at  him. 

i  l  Do  you  like  Brahms  ? ' '  she  asked. 

' t  No — yes — I  mean,  I  really  don 't  know, ' '  he 
answered.  Then  suddenly:  " Edith,  tell  me 
what  has  become  of  my  cousin,  Harry  War- 
grave  T" 


CHAPTER  V 

A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE 

Edith  's  hands  dropped  involuntarily  with  a 
crash  on  the  keyboard.  She  shivered  slightly  at 
the  discord;  lifted  them,  and  turned  around  on 
her  seat,  facing  Desmond. 

"It  was  too  bad  to  make  such  a  noise,' '  she 
said;  "but  you  startled  me  tremendously.  I 
don't  know  when  I  have  heard  that  name 
before." 

"But  why  should  it  be  tabooed?"  he  asked. 
' '  That  is  what  I  want  to  know. ' ' 

"Don't  you  know — anything?"  she  inquired, 
a  little  curiously. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  he  answered.  "How 
should  I?  My  mother  died  so  early,  and  it  was 
only  from  her  that  I  ever  heard  anything  of  the 
family.    Then  when  I  was  here  as  a  boy — " 

' '  Nobody  told  you  anything  then  f ' ' 

"Nobody.  I  felt  instinctively  that  there  was 
a  mystery  about  my  cousin,  that  his  name  was 
never  to  be  mentioned.  But  a  boy  is  a  rather 
selfish  animal,  who  does  not  generally  trouble 
his  head  about  anything  but  his  own  concerns. 
I  was  too  busy  with  my  various  amusements  to 


oo 


56  A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE 

think  of  the  matter  except  in  the  most  passing 
manner.  And  since  then  I  have  never  thought 
of  it  at  all, — never  for  an  instant  imagined  that 
it  would  concern  me. ' ' 

"And  now  you  know  that  it  does?" 

"Yes,  now  I  know  that  it  does;  and  I  must 
know  more  before  I  can  consent  to  take  a  man 's 
inheritance. ' ' 

With  her  left  hand  she  absently  struck  a  few 
chords  before  she  said : 

"I  don't  think  vou  will  have  a  choice  in  the 
matter. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  have  a  choice,"  he  replied.  "My 
uncle  has  just  told  me  that  he  has  not  signed 
his  will  because  he  has  waited  for  me  to  make 
certain  promises.  I  can  refuse  to  make  those 
promises." 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  do  that!"  she  exclaimed 
hastily.  "It  would — I  don't  know  what  it 
wouldn't  do!  Break  his  heart;  kill  him,  per- 
haps. Since  his  seizure  he  has  seemed  to  live 
only  for  your  coming.  The  doctor  says  his 
recovery  has  been  marvellous,  like  a  triumph  of 
the  will  over  the  flesh.  And  it  has  all  been 
that  he  might  do  this  thing — fulfil  the  War- 
grave  trust.  If  you  failed  him  now,  it  would  be 
terrible. ' ' 

"I  don't  want  to  fail  him,"  the  young  man 
said  earnestly;  "but,  equally,  I  don't  want  to 
be  a  party  to  injustice.    So  I  must  know  what 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE  57 

has  become  of  my  cousin,  and  you  are  the  only 
person  I  can  ask  to  tell  me." 

There  was  again  silence  for  a  moment.  Then, 
glancing  at  the  door  which  led  into  the  library, 
to  be  sure  that  it  was  closed,  the  girl  said: 

"I  will  tell  you  all  that  I  know,  but  it  is  very 
little.  He  was  already  gone  when  my  father 
died,  and  mamma  came  back  here  to  live,  bring- 
ing me  with  her.  But  I  think  the  catastrophe 
that  banished  him  must  have  occurred  shortly 
before  that;  for  the  servants  still  talked  of 
'Mass  Harry' — " 

Desmond  nodded.  "Yes,  they  did  that  when 
I  was  here.  It  was  only  from  them  that  I  ever 
heard  his  name. ' ' 

"And  one — his  old  nurse,  who  is  now  dead — 
often  spoke  of  him,,,  Edith  went  on.  "It  was 
from  her  I  learned  all  that  I  know ;  for,  with  a 
child's  insatiable  curiosity — I  don't,  by  the 
by,  agree  with  you  that  children  haven't 
curiosity — " 

"I  spoke  only  of  boys,"  he  responded. 
"Feminine  children  no  doubt  have  abundance 
of  it." 

She  gave  him  a  flashing  smile. 

"I  understand  what  you  mean;  but  never 
mind.  Well,  Mom  Gracie  was,  I  suppose,  glad 
of  some  one  to  talk  to  on  the  subject  so  near 
her  heart.  She  warned  me  not  to  tell  that  she 
had  talked,  and  then  she  told  me  all  she  knew. 
As  well  as  I  remember,  it  wasn't  very  clear  as 


58  A  QUESTION"  OF  CONFIDENCE 

a  narrative,  but  she  made  me  realize  that  some- 
thing dreadful  had  happened.  She  described 
the  last  coming  home  of  the  young  man,  the 
sense  of  impending  tragedy  that  everybody 
about  the  house  had  in  the  consciousness  of 
changed  relations  between  father  and  son. ' ' 

"  ' Virgil  was  in  the  dining-room  then,'  she 
said,  'and  he  come  out  to  me  fairly  shakin\ 
"They  ain't  talkin'  an'  they  ain't  eatin',"  he 
says;  "an'  the  Judge"  (the  young  niggahs 
always  called  Mass  George  "the  Judge") 
"looks  jes'  like  he  does  when  he's  sittin'  on 
the  bench."  It  was  after  that — might  'a'  been 
several  hours  after,'  she  went  on,  'for  I  know 
it  was  dark — when  Mass  Harry  come  out 
hisself  to  my  house.  "Good-bye,  Mammy!"  he 
says.  "I'm  goin'  away,  an'  I  don't  think  I'll 
ever  be  back  again." — "G'long,  Mass  Harry!" 
I  says.  "What  you  talkin'  that  foolishness 
fuh?" — "It  ain't  foolishness,"  he  says  (an' 
then  I  saw  he  was  as  white  as  your  pocket- 
handkercher,  chile,  an'  his  eyes  shinin'  like 
stars) ;  "I'll  never  come  back  unless  my  father 
sends  for  me,  and  he'll  never  do  that,"  he 
says. — ' '  Good  Lord ! "  I  screams  out,  "  an '  why 
wouldn't  he  send  fuh  you,  when  you's  his  only 
child?" — "Bekase  he  believes  somethin'  of  me 
that  isn't  true,"  he  says  (yes,  Miss  Edith, 
that's  what  he  said, — "somethin'  that  isn't 
true")  "an'  I  can't  disprove  it,  an'  I'll  never 
ask  him  to  take  my  word  again." 


A  QUESTION"  OF  CONFIDENCE  59 

"  'Well,  I  cries  an'  pleads  with  him,'  the  old 
soul  continued;  'but  ov  co'se  he  wouldn't  listen 
(the  Wargraves  is  always  awful  set  when  they 
make  up  their  minds  to  anything).  An'  when 
Hiram  come  an'  tol'  him  the  buggy  was  ready, 
he  bid  me  good-bye  an'  went  away.'  Then  she 
burst  out  crying;  I  shall  never  forget  how  she 
cried.  'An'  he  never  has  come  back,'  she  would 
say,  'an'  he  never  will !  I'll  never  see  my  baby 
again.  It  killed  his  mother ;  she  never  held  up 
her  head  after  he  went  away.  But  nothin' 
don't  move  Mass  George;  an'  it's  my  'pinion,' 
she  added  solemnly,  'that  the  Lord  Hisself 
couldn  't  move  him. '  ' ' 

"You  are  a  good  story-teller,  Edith,"  Des- 
mond said,  as  the  girl's  voice  ceased.  "You 
have  made  me  see  and  hear  old  Mom  Gracie. 
You  know  she  was  living  when  I  was  here,  and 
I  understand  now  why  I  was  always  conscious 
of  a  certain  hostility  in  her  glance  when  she 
looked  at  me.  It  vaguely  puzzled  me  then,  but 
I  comprehend  now:  she  was  jealous  of  me  as 
supplanting  the  'Mass  Harry,'  of  whom  she 
often  muttered  unintelligible  things. ' ' 

"  Yes, "  Edith  said.  ' '  I  think  you  must  have 
been  indeed  a  very  unobservant  and  self- 
centered  boy  if  you  were  only  vaguely  aware  of 
her  dislike.  It  was  always  clear  enough  to  me. ' ' 

"Of  course  I  was  self -centered, — I've 
acknowledged  that, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  But,  you  see, 
you  had  advantage  of  being  in  her  confidence. 


60  A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE 

Yet  none  of  this  clears  up  matters  much.  The 
question  is,  what  did  he  do ! ' ' 

Edith  shook  her  head.  "I  haven't  the  least 
idea, ' '  she  replied.  ' '  I  have  never  ventured  to 
ask. ' ' 

' 'Well,  I  must  ask,"  the  young  man  said  in 
a  resolute  tone;  "and,  what  is  more,  I  shall 
insist  upon  an  answer.  I  will  make  no  promise 
and  take  no  man's  inheritance  in  the  dark." 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  as  she  had  looked  in 
the  library  before  he  went  upstairs.  It  was 
evident  that  he  surprised  her,  and  also  that  he 
roused  her  interest.  There  was  not  a  great  deal 
of  light  in  the  room — only  that  of  a  tall,  silken- 
shaded  lamp  by  the  piano, — but  the  concen- 
trated radiance  of  this  fell  on  his  face;  and  it 
struck  her  that  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
strength  and  determination  expressed  in  the 
firm  contours.  Usually  the  debonair  charm  of 
the  countenance,  the  gay  smile  of  the  upward 
curling  lips,  the  gleam  of  humor  in  the  dark- 
blue  Irish  eyes,  masked  these  characteristics; 
but  they  were  very  evident  now,  as  he  gazed 
past  her,  as  if  seeing,  in  the  shadows  beyond, 
the  picture  of  the  banished  son  of  the  house, 
which  her  words  had  so  vividly  evoked. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said  presently,  "that 
your  attitude  surprises  me  a  little?  Most 
people  would  be  glad  to  accept  such  an  inheri- 
tance as  is  offered  to  you,  without  pressing 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE  61 

inquiries  about  some  one  whom  you  have  never 
seen  or  known.' ' 

He  looked  at  her  gravely.  "What  has  seeing 
him  or  knowing  him  to  do  with  it?"  he  asked. 
"I  am  not  thinking  of  him,  but  of  myself.  It's 
a  simple  question  of  not  profiting  by  injustice. 
I  can't  do  that;  so  I  must  find  out  what  has 
become  of  Harry  Wargrave,  and  why  he  for- 
feited his  inheritance  before  I  can  consent  to 
take  it." 

"How  will  you  find  out?" 

"I  shall  ask  my  uncle." 

"  Oh ! "  It  was  again  an  exclamation  of  some- 
thing like  horrified  protest.  "You  must  not 
dream  of  such  a  thing!  The  effect  might  be 
terrible.  If  you  must  ask  somebody,  ask 
mamma." 

"Do  you  think  she  knows?" 

"I  should  suppose  that  she  certainly  does." 

"Very  well."  He  .rose  as  he  spoke.  "I  will 
go  and  ask  her. ' ' 

Her  glance  followed  him,  with  mingled 
wonder  and  approval,  as  he  walked  without  an 
instant's  hesitation  to  the  door  which  led  into 
the  library,  opened  it,  passed  through,  and 
closed  it  behind  him.  At  the  sound  of  its  clos- 
ing, she  drew  a  deep  breath,  then,  dropping  her 
hands  on  the  keys  of  the  piano,  began  to  play 
again. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  same  sound,  Mrs.  Creigh- 


62  A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE 

ton  looked  up  from  her  book  and  smiled  at  the 
young  man  advancing  toward  her. 

"Well,  your  uncle  did  not  keep  you  very  long, 
after  all.    I  am  glad  of  that. ' ' 

"I  have  been  downstairs  some  time,"  Des- 
mond answered.  "I've  been  talking  to  Edith 
in  the  drawing-room.  He  said  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  keep  me  long — to-night." 

"No  doubt  it  was  enough  just  to  see  you,  to 
satisfy  himself  that  you  were  really  here, ' '  Mrs. 
Creighton  observed.  "He  was  pleased,  was  he 
not?" 

"Very  much,  I  think." 

"I'm  quite  sure  he  was  pleased,"  she  said 
i  i  It  must  have  gratified  him  deeply  that  you  are 
so  much  of  a  Wargrave.  And  did  he"  (she 
hesitated  slightly), — "did  he  tell  you  why  he 
has  been  so  anxious  for  your  coming?" 

"Yes,"  Desmond  answered  gravely,  "he  told 
me.    I  was  very  much  surprised." 

"You  had  not  expected  anything  of  the 
kind!" 

"No, — how  could  I?  It  had  never  for  an 
instant  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  be  made  the 
Wargrave  heir." 

She  glanced  away  from  him,  and  he  was  quite 
sure  that  he  heard  her  sigh. 

"I  suppose  not,"  she  said.  And  then,  in  a 
lower  tone :  ' l  You  knew  nothing  of  the  family 
tragedy?" 

"Nothing,"  he  answered, — "absolutely  noth- 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE  63 

ing  until  to-night.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  I 
have  learned  that  there  is  a  tragedy.  Aunt 
Rachel,  will  you  tell  me  the  facts  of  it!" 

As  he  leaned  toward  her,  his  aunt  shrank 
back  into  her  chair,  and  made  a  motion  of  dis- 
sent with  her  hand. 

* ' Don 't  ask  me!"  she  said.  ' ' I — I  don 't  want 
to  talk  of  it.  Be  satisfied  that  your  uncle  has 
the  right  to  do  what  he  intends,  that  no  one  has 
any  power  to  interfere." 

"That  isn't  the  point,"  the  young  man 
answered.  i  i  He  may  have  the  right  to  do  what 
he  intends,  and  no  one  may  have  power  to  inter- 
fere ;  but  there  is  a  word  for  me  to  say,  and  that 
word  is  that  I  can  not  accept  this  inheritance 
if  any  shadow  of  injustice  to  another  is 
involved  in  giving  it  to  me. ' ' 

1 '  Laurence ! ' '  Mrs.  Creighton  sat  erect  now 
and  stared  at  him.  "You  can't  mean  that  you 
will  refuse  to  take  what  your  uncle  wishes  to 
secure  to  you?" 

' '  I  mean  just  that,  Aunt  Rachel, ' '  he  told  her 
firmly,  "unless  I  am  convinced  that  I  can  take  it 
consistently  with  justice  and  honor." 

A  flush  sprang  to  her  face,  an  angry  light  to 
her  eyes. 

"You  venture  to  question  that  your  uncle 
could  act  otherwise  than  with  justice  and 
honor?"  she  demanded,  in  a  vibrating  tone. 

He  looked  at  her  steadily;  and  as  he  looked, 
she  was  struck,  as  Edith  had  been  a  few  minutes 


64  A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE 

earlier,  by  the  expression  of  determination  that 
came  out  on  his  face. 

"I  am  not  questioning  my  uncle's  conduct,' ' 
he  said,  "because  I  know  nothing  about  the 
motives  actuating  or  the  grounds  justifying  it. 
But  I  can  not  shift  responsibility  for  my  con- 
duct to  any  one  else.  I  must  be  certain  where  I 
stand  before  I  can  agree  to  profit  so  greatly  by 
another's  loss." 

"I  consider  this  presumptuous  and — disre- 
spectful in  the  extreme !"  his  aunt  returned. 
"It  should  be  enough  for  you  that  your  uncle 
is  acting  as  he  thinks  right ;  and  no  one — no  one 
in  the  world — has  ever  before  doubted  his 
honor. ' ' 

"I  am  not  doubting  it,"  Desmond  assured 
her.  "I  am  certain  that  he  would  go  to  the 
stake  for  what  he  felt  to  be  a  point  of  honor, 
but  it  is  possible  that  there  might  be  a  differ- 
ence of  opinion  between  us. ' ' 

"And  you  would  set  your  judgment  up 
against  his!" 

"When  it  comes  to  a  matter  of  conscience,  I 
must,  you  know.  I  am  sorry  to  vex  you,  Aunt 
Eachei,  but  I  can  not  recede  from  my  position. 
Before  I  agree  to  accept  this  inheritance,  I 
must  know  why  my  uncle's  son  and  rightful 
heir  forfeited  it,  and  what  has  become  of  him. ' ' 

"You — "  Mrs.  Creighton's  voice  failed  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  regaining  control  of  it,  she 
went  on  bitterly, — "you  are  so  ungrateful,  as 


A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE  65 

well  as  presumptuous,  that  if  there  were  any- 
one to  take  your  place,  I  should  advise  my 
brother  to  let  you  go.  But  you  know  that  we 
are  at  your  mercy ;  that  there  is  no  one  else  to 
carry  on  the  family,  the  name — " 

1 '  I  have  known  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  I  am 
sorry  if  it  is  so,"  Desmond  said,  with  a  gentle- 
ness that  sprang  from  pity.  "But  if  you  wish 
me  to  do  this,  why  not  be  frank  with  me  ?  Why 
not  give  me  the  confidence  that  it  is  surely  my 
right  to  ask?" 

"I  do  not  admit  that  it  is  your  right  to  ask 
what  does  not  concern  you." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  ages-old 
masculine  contempt  for  a  woman's  reasoning 
power  was  in  the  gesture,  as  well  as  a  certain 
hopelessness. 

"In  that  case,"  he  said,  "I  shall  have  no 
alternative  but  to  ask  my  uncle  the  question  you 
decline  to  answer." 

"What!"  she  almost  sprang  at  him.  "You 
would  have  so  little  feeling,  so  little  decency,  as 
to  mention  the  matter  to  InimV 

Again  she  was  struck  by  the  resolute  deter- 
mination in  the  young  face  looking  at  her. 

"You  force  me  to  do  so,"  Desmond 
answered.  "Where  else  am  I  to  go  for  the 
information  I  must  have  ?  And  I  do  not  believe 
that  my  uncle  will  misunderstand  me,  as  I 
regret  to  see  that  you  do.  He  will  recognize 
that  with  responsibility  must  go  knowledge; 


66  A  QUESTION  OF  CONFIDENCE 

that  no  man  should  be  asked  to  make  a  promise 
and  accept  a  burden  in  the  dark." 

"  You  call  it  accepting  a  burden  to  take  a 
princely  inheritance  1 ' ' 

"However  princely,  it  would  be  a  burden 
beyond  my  power  of  bearing,  if  I  were  not  sure 
that  it  was  justly  mine. ' ' 

Mrs.  Creighton  rose  from  her  chair  with  a 
haste  of  movement  which  showed  that  her 
power  of  self-control  was  stretched  to  its 
utmost  tension.  She  walked  across  the  floor, 
stood  for  a  moment  gazing  out  of  a  window  on 
the  moonlit  lawns  and  terraces;  then  turned, 
came  back  and  sank  into  her  seat  again.  Her 
face  was  set  and  very  cold  as  she  now  looked  at 
Desmond. 

"You  have  found  a  means  to  force  me  to  do 
what  you  wish,"  she  said.  "Anything  is  better 
than  that  you  should  speak  to  my  brother  on  a 
subject  which  even  /  have  never  dared  to  touch 
with  him.  I  will  tell  you  all  that  I  know  about 
my  nephew,  and  I  trust  that  it  will  be  enough 
to  satisfy  your — curiosity." 


CHAPTEE  VI 

FAMILY  HISTOEY 

Notwithstanding  his  resolute  determination 
to  keep  Ms  temper,  the  last  word  spoken  by 
Mrs.  Creightbn  stung  Desmond  a  little. 

"I  do  not  think,"  he  observed,  "that  my 
desire  for  knowledge  on  this  subject  could  be 
called  curiosity ;  but  we  will  not  dispute  over  a 
name.  The  essential  thing  is  that  I  should 
learn  the  facts." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Creighton  said,  "the  facts,  as 
far  as  I  know  them,  are  briefly  these — ' 

Although  it  seemed  her  intention  to  go  on, 
she  nevertheless  paused,  gazing  into  the  brass- 
girt  fireplace,  where  a  few  logs  burned  more 
for  cheerfulness  than  warmth.  When  she  pres- 
ently spoke  again,  her  voice  had  changed  a 
little;  it  seemed  that  she  was  thinking  less  of 
the  young  man  who  had  so  unexpectedly  roused 
her  antagonism  than  of  the  events  and  figures 
of  the  past. 

"You  are,"  she  said,  "so  ignorant  of  the 
family  history  that  I  had  better  begin  by  telling 
vou  that  vour  uncle  is  onlv  the  half-brother  of 

67 


68  FAMILY  HISTORY 

your  mother  and  myself.  Our  father  married 
twice,  and  there  was  a  long  interval  between  his 
marriages.  Consequently  the  son  of  the  first 
marriage  was  twenty  years  older  than  the 
children  of  the  second.  We  were  very  young, 
your  mother  and  I,  when  our  father  died;  and 
our  brother  became  not  only  our  legal  guardian, 
but  in  every  respect  a  father  to  us.  I  can  barely 
remember  when  he  was  married;  and  Harry, 
his  only  son,  was  therefore  practically  of  our 
generation,  and  like  a  brother  rather  than  a 
nephew.  We  were  very  fond  of  him''  (her 
voice  trembled  a  little);  "and  what  happened 
later  was,  and  still  remains,  a  great  grief  to  me. 

"Well,  we  grew  up  during  the  war,  knowing 
little  of  it ;  for  the  routine  on  the  great  planta- 
tions went  on  just  as  if  there  had  been  no  war, 
until  near  the  close,  when  your  uncle  was 
brought  home  badly  wounded;  and  the  friend 
who  brought  him,  who  had  carried  him  off  the 
field  and  saved  his  life  was  your  father.  He 
was  very  attractive,  and  we  all  fell  in  love  with 
him ;  but  he  fell  in  love  with  your  mother,  who 
had  just  grown  into  womanhood  and  was  most 
charming.  Perhaps' '  (abruptly)  "you  think  all 
this  is  very  far  from  what  I  started  to  tell,  but 
it  seems  best  to  make  everything  clear  to  you." 

"It  is  best,  I  am  sure,"  Desmond  told  her, 
"and  also  very  interesting.  You  see,  as  you 
have  said,  I  am  very  ignorant  of  all  these 
things,   and  glad   to  know  them.    About  my 


FAMILY  HISTORY  69 

father  and  mother  now — there  was  opposition 
to  their  marriage,  was  there  not?" 

"Yes.  Much  as  he  liked  your  father,  who 
was  really  a  fascinating  person,  my  brother  had 
too  keen  a  sense  of  his  responsibility  toward  us 
not  to  feel  that  there  were  many  objections  to 
the  marriage.  There  was  a  considerable  dis- 
parity of  age,  to  begin  with,  difference  of 
nationality,  and  most  of  all,  of  religion." 

The  young  man  nodded.  "I  understand," 
he  said.  "The  opposition  was  very  natural, — 
in  fact,  inevitable.    But  they  overcame  it?" 

"Oh,  yes!  They  were  both  so  determined 
that  after  a  while  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
yield.  Some  time  elapsed,  however.  My  brother 
insisted  that  vour  mother  should  wait  until  she 
was  older  and  certain  of  knowing  her  own 
mind;  so  it  was  two  or  three  years  after  the 
war  before  they  were  married  and  went  abroad. 
Then,  still  later,  I  was  married  and  went  away ; 
and — and  while  I  was  gone  the  dreadful  thing 
about  Harry  happened. ' ' 

Silence  fell  again,  as  she  stared  once  more  at 
the  softly-burning  fire,  the  feathery  ashes. 
Aware  that  half  unconsciouslv  she  had  been 
dwelling  on  other  things  in  order  to  keep  away 
from  the  subject  to  which  she  had  now  returned, 
Desmond  did  not  speak,  but  only  sat  in  an 
attitude  of  attention,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her. 
Some  instinct  of  the  expectation  in  that  steady 
gaze,  although  her  glance  did  not  turn  toward 


70  FAMILY  HISTORY 

him,  at  last  forced  her  to  take  up  the  thread  of 
her  narrative  and  go  on. 

1 '  I  can  not  understand  it, ' '  she  said ; ' '  I  never 
have  been  able  to  understand  it.  No  one  ever 
had  a  finer  sense  of  honor  than  Harry  appeared 
to  possess ;  he  was  the  very  ideal  of  all  that  one 
could  have  wished  him  to  be.  Only  in  one  thing- 
he  disappointed  his  father.  He  was  not  willing 
to  stay  on  the  plantation,  nor  yet  to  study  a 
profession.  In  the  years  following  the  war, 
you  know,  there  was  a  terrible  condition  of 
affairs  here  in  the  South — an  upheaval  of  all 
the  conditions  of  life, — and  no  one  knew  what 
would  or  could  finally  result.  I  don't  want  to 
recall  the  anarchy  that  existed  for  a  time,  and 
threatened  to  make  life  impossible.  Young  men 
especially  were  almost  unable  to  bear  it;  and 
for  this  reason  (because  he  was  afraid  of  what 
Harry  might  be  led  into)  my  brother  consented 
that  he  should  do  what  no  Wargrave  had  ever 
done  before — go  into  business.  He,  therefore, 
went  to  Baltimore  and  entered  the  commission 
house  of  some  old  friends  of  ours, — men  who, 
despairing  of  conditions  in  the  South,  had  left 
their  plantations,  raised  what  money  they 
could,  and  founded  a  prosperous  business  in 
that  city.  I  think  it  was  almost  a  relief  to  my 
brother  that  he  was  away  during  the  terrible 
years  in  which  things  were  gradually  righting 
themselves,  when  it  required  all  his  judicial 
temperament  to  avoid  trouble.    But  I  know  that 


FAMILY  HISTORY  71 

he  never  ceased  to  look  forward  to  the  time 
when  the  son  of  the  house  could  return  to  take 
up  the  inheritance  which  had  been  saved  for 
him  by  such  careful  and  almost  heroic  effort. 
Then— the  blow  fell. ' ' 

It  seemed  to  Desmond  that  the  tense  sus- 
pense in  which  he  was  left  when  her  voice 
dropped  again  was  almost  more  than  he  could 
bear.  He  felt  his  hands  involuntarily  clench- 
ing. It  was  as  if  once  more  he  almost  touched 
the  old  tragedy;  as  if  its  agony  took  material 
shape  before  him,  and  he  felt  that  he  must  know 
whatever  there  was  to  know.  At  length  he 
could  wait  no  longer. 

" Don't  try  to  go  into  particulars,' '  he  said 
gently.    "Just  tell  me  briefly  what  happened." 

Then,  for  the  first  time  since  she  began  her 
story,  she  turned  to  meet  his  gaze ;  and  in  her 
darkened,  dilated  eyes  he  saw  all  that  she  was 
suffering. 

"I  can't  go  into  particulars,"  she  said, 
"because  I  don't  know — I  never  asked  for 
them.  "Why  should  I  have  tortured  my  brother 
with  questions?  He  was  a  lawyer  as  well  as  a 
man  of  stern  integrity.  He  would  have  died 
before  he  would  have  been  guilty  of  an  injustice 
toward  the  poorest  negro.  Could  1  imagine, 
therefore,  that  he  was  guilty  of  any  toward  his 
only  son?  What  he  wrote  to  me  (for  he  never 
spoke  of  the  matter)  was  this :  'I  have  learned 
from  my  old  friend,  Colonel  Escott,  that  Harry 


72  FAMILY  HISTORY 

has  been  guilty  of  irregularities — so  he  puts 
it — in  the  business  entrusted  to  him.  The 
proofs,  into  which  I  need  not  enter,  seem  quite 
clear.  The  firm  has  lost  many  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  the  cheques  passed  through  Harry's 
hands.  I  sent  for  him  at  once,  and  he  can  give 
no  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  defalca- 
tion,— for  that,  in  plain  language,  is  what  it  is. 
He  denies  that  he  has  been  guilty  of  dishonesty, 
but  the  proof  would  convict  him  in  any  court 
of  law.  This  being  so,  there  has  been  only  one 
course  for  me  to  pursue.  I  have  paid  every 
dollar  of  which  the  firm  has  been  defrauded — 
laying  a  charge  on  the  estate  which  it  will  take 
me  many  years  to  liquidate,  in  order  to  do  so, — 
and  I  have  told  Harry  that,  unless  he  can  bring 
me  not  merely  assertion  but  convincing  proof 
of  his  integrity,  he  can  not  enter  again  a  house 
where  honor  has  always  been  held  supreme, 
and  he  can  never  expect  to  inherit  it.  With  this 
distinct  understanding,  he  has  gone.  That  is 
all.' 

'  '  No  doubt  it  seems  strange  to  you  that  I  can 
quote  this  old  letter  so  exactly,' '  Mrs.  Creigh- 
ton  went  on,  after  another  pause,  which  now 
Desmond  made  no  effort  to  break;  "but  it  was 
the  only  information  I  ever  had,  and  I  read  it 
over  and  over  until  it  was  branded  on  my  mem- 
ory. Well,  you  understand  now  why  my  brother 
has  let  the  years  go  by — it  is  more  than  twenty 
since  this  occurred — without  fulfilling  that  part 


FAMILY  HISTORY  73 

of  the  Wargrave  trust  which  enjoins  the  renew- 
ing of  the  entail.  He  had  not  only  to  clear  the 
estate  of  debt,  but  I  am  sure,  though  he  has 
never  said  so,  that  he  has  always  hoped,  against 
hope  as  it  were,  that  Harry  would  exonerate  his 
name  from  the  charge  of  dishonor  which  stood 
against  it.  But  that  hope  ended  forever  when 
we  heard  of  his  death." 

"Ok!"  Desmond  started,  for  tkis  news  came 
to  kim  as  a  skock.    "He  is  dead,  tken  ! ' ' 

She  nodded,  and  lifted  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes,  with  the  sound  of  a  smothered  sob. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "Two  years  ago  my 
brother  had  a  brief  message  from  San  Fran- 
cisco— where,  it  seems,  Harry  went  when  he  left 
here, — saying  that  he  was  dead." 

"Is  there  no  doubt  of  it!  Who  sent  the 
message!" 

Mrs.  Creighton  hesitated  an  instant  before 
replying,  and  he  had  an  instinctive  feeling  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  answer  the  question.  Never- 
theless, with  a  return  of  coldness  to  her  voice, 
she  said: 

"My  brother  had  not  the  least  doubt  of  the 
message.  I  did  not  ask  him  about  the  name 
signed  to  it,  which  was  unknown  to  me." 

"But  not  to  kim!" 

Tke  persistence  of  tke  question  evidently 
irritated  ker.  Tkere  was  again  a  flask  in  ker 
glance  as  it  turned  on  kim. 

"Of  course  it  was  not  unknown  to  kim,"  ske 


74  FAMILY  HISTORY 

answered;  "but  I  did  not  trouble  him  with 
inquiries.  It  would  have  been  cruel,  absolutely 
inexcusable,  to  do  so." 

Desmond  was  well  aware  that  the  indignation 
in  her  voice  was  for  him;  that  she  held  his 
inquiries  to  be,  if  not  cruel,  at  least ';  absolutely 
inexcusable " ;  but  he  was  too  intent  upon  his 
object,  upon  satisfying  the  insistent  demands  of 
his  own  conscience,  to  be  deterred  by  this 
indignation. 

"You  must  forgive  me  if  I  ask  one  more 
question, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Had  my  uncle  during  all 
these  years  maintained  any  communication 
with  his  son  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Creighton  replied.  "I  know  as 
much  as  that,  although  I  never  saw  one  of  the 
communications.  I  think  they  were  rare  and 
altogether  formal.  My  brother  was  too  just  a 
man  to  cast  off  his  son  entirely;  and  he  pro- 
vided him  with  a  certain  income,  although  he 
could  not  make  him  the  heir  of  the  estate. 
Even  if  he  had  wished  to  do  so,  the  Wargrave 
trust  would  have  prevented  that. ' ' 

"He  told  me  that  the  trust  enjoins  that  who- 
ever has  been  guilty  of  dishonorable  conduct 
should  be  cast  out  and  lose  the  inheritance," 
Desmond  said  slowly.  "It  seems  a  hard 
condition. ' ' 

' '  A  hard  condition  1 ' '  his  aunt  repeated.  ' l  Do 
you  think  that  any  one  who  had  been  guilty  of 
dishonorable  conduct  should  be  allowed  to  take 


FAMILY  HISTORY  75 

the  inheritance  which  only  honorable  men  have 
held!" 

"I  think,"  Desmond  answered,  "that  there 
should  be  some  allowance  made  for  human 
weakness,  for  possible  mistakes,  and — for 
repentance." 

' '  Repentance ! ' '  There  was  a  shade  of  scorn 
in  her  tone  as  she  echoed  the  word.  ' '  How  can 
repentance  change  what  has  been  done?  A 
criminal  may  repent,  but  the  law  exacts  its 
penalty  nevertheless. ' ' 

' '  Human  law,  yes. ' ' 

"We  are  not  talking  of  divine  law,"  she 
returned  impatiently.  "But  I  see  how  it  is. 
You  have  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  so 
different  from  ours  that  you  can  not  under- 
stand our  standards,  which  have  for  us  the 
force  of  laws.  Of  course  we  might  have  ex- 
pected this ;  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  I  did  expect 
it.  But  I  never  thought  of  your  taking  so 
unsympathetic  an  attitude,  setting  yourself  up 
to  judge — " 

"I  am  sorry,"  Desmond  said,  as  she  broke 
off  abruptly,  ' '  that  you  mistake  me  so  much.  I 
am  trying  not  to  be  unsympathetic ;  and,  so  far 
from  judging,  I  am  only  asking  to  know  how 
matters  stand." 

"Well,  now  you  know  all  that  is  essential." 

"Almost  all,"  he  agreed.  "It  does  not  con- 
cern me  to  decide  whether  my  cousin  was 
hardlv  dealt  with,  since  his  case  has  been  called 


76  FAMILY  HISTORY 

to  a  higher  tribunal.  If  he  were  living,  I  may 
tell  you  frankly  that  I  could  not  consent  to  take 
his  inheritance ;  but  since  he  is  dead,  and  has,  I 
presume,  left  no  heirs — " 

The  pause  was  interrogative;  for  this  was 
indeed  the  crucial  point.  On  it  everything 
hinged;  for  in  his  mind  Desmond  was  quite 
sure  that,  whatever  Harry  Wargrave  had  done, 
there  would  be  no  justice  in  alienating  his 
inheritance  from  his  children  on  account  of  it. 
But  Mrs.  Creighton  answered  without  hesita- 
tion, and  more  coldly  than  she  had  yet  spoken : 

'  i  He  left  no  heirs,  so  there  is  no  need  for  you 
to  take  that  into  consideration.  And  now  I 
think  we  can  drop  the  subject.  It  is  naturally 
a  very  painful  one  to  me,  and  I  suppose  that 
your — scruples,  shall  I  say? — are  satisfied V 

"  *  Scruples'  is  certainly  a  better  name  than 
curiosity  for  what  I  have  felt, — what  has  made 
it  necessary  for  me  to  annoy  and  give  you  pain 
in  this  manner,"  said  Desmond,  in  a  tone  of 
sincere  regret.  ' '  I  wish  you  would  believe  that 
it  was  only  because  my  conscience  obliged  me 
to  know  exactly  how  matters  stood,  that  I  have 
troubled  you  with  what  you  probably  consider 
impertinent  inquiries. ' ' 

"No,"  she  answered.  "I  admit  that  they 
were  not  impertinent — from  you.  I  acknowl- 
edge that  you  have  a  right  to  know  family 
matters  which  do  not  concern  any  one  else.  I 
was  vexed  at  your  persistence  at  first,  but  I  see 


FAMILY  HISTORY  77 

now  that  it  is  better  to  have  everything  made 
clear  before  you  go  to  my  brother  to-morrow. ' ' 
Then  she  looked  at  him  with  a  certain  softening 
of  glance  and  manner.  "You  are  a  true  War- 
grave  in  your  obstinacy,"  she  added,  not  with- 
out approval. 

Desmond  smiled  a  little,  not  caring  to  explain 
further  that  something  much  stronger,  more 
compelling,  than  mere  obstinacy  had  been 
behind  his  inquiries.  He,  too,  had  a  sense  of 
relief  that  the  explanation  was  over,  and  that 
apparently  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should 
refuse  to  gratify  his  uncle  by  accepting  the 
inheritance  which  was  offered  him. 

"You  have  been  very  good  in  bearing  with 
my  questions  and  giving  me  so  much  informa- 
tion, ' '  he  told  his  aunt,  with  what  she  could  not 
but  feel  to  be  a  very  winning  grace  of  manner. 
' '  I  trust  that  I  shall  never  have  to  annoy  you  in 
the  same  way,  nor  indeed  in  any  other,  again. 
I  shall  certainly  endeavor  not  to  do  so. ' ' 

Before  Mrs.  Creighton  could  reply,  the  door 
leading  into  the  drawing-room — where  the 
music  had  ceased  some  time  before — softly 
opened,  and  Edith's  charming  face  appeared. 

"Have  you  finished  talking?  May  I  come 
in?"  she  asked. 

Yes,    come   in,"   her   stepmother   replied. 

We  have  finished,  in  the  most  final  sense,  all 
that  we  have  to  say." 


1 1 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  CHANGE  OF  NAME 

One  of  those  radiant  mornings  of  early 
autumn,  which  in  beauty  rival  if  they  do  not 
surpass  the  mornings  of  spring,  lay  like  a 
mantle  of  enchantment  over  the  wide  scene 
which  Hillcrest  on  its  dominating  height  com- 
manded, when  Desmond  stepped  out  of  the 
house  after  breakfast  the  next  day.  With  a 
sense  of  delight  in  the  mere  consciousness  of 
physical  existence,  he  threw  back  his  head  and 
expanded  his  lungs  to  the  delicious  air,  while 
his  glance  took  in  the  beautiful  picture  spread 
before  him.  The  plateau  on  which  the  house 
stood  was  covered  with  green  lawns,  that 
dropped  on  one  side  in  a  succession  of  terraces 
to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  where  the  cultivated 
valley  swept  in  graceful  curve,  with  the  bend 
of  the  stream,  around  its  base ;  and  the  horizon 
was  bounded  by  softly  rolling  hills  and  woods 
draped  in  sparkling  purple  mist. 

"What  a  heavenly  day!"  he  exclaimed  to 
Edith,  who  had  come  out  with  him,  and  who 
smiled  at  his  rapture. 

78 


A  CHANGE  OF  NAME  79 

"I  won't  go  so  far  as  to  declare  that  all  days 
are  heavenly  at  this  season,"  she  said;  "but  at 
least  they  are  so  much  the  rule  that  we  are  not 
surprised  by  them.  Let  us  go  down  to  the 
flower  garden.  I  want  some  roses  for  the 
house.' ' 

They  passed  down  a  flight  of  stone  steps  to 
the  broad  terrace,  facing  the  south,  where  all 
varieties  of  flowers  bloomed  in  succession 
throughout  the  year,  and  where  the  magnificent 
roses  of  October,  finer  than  the  roses  of  May, 
were  just  then  in  their  glory.  The  basket  which 
Edith  carried  was  soon  full  to  overflowing ;  and 
it  was  as  he  looked  at  their  fragrant  beauty, 
and  then  at  the  wide,  sunlit  scene  around  him, 
that  Desmond  was  suddenly  smitten  with  a 
recollection  of  the  railway  accident  of  the  day 
before,  and  of  what  it  had  meant  to  so  many 
who,  like  himself,  had  yesterday  looked  out  on 
the  world  in  health  and  strength,  and  to-day — 

Edith  was  startled  by  the  change  in  his 
tone — they  had  been  talking  and  laughing  gaily 
as  she  clipped  her  roses — when  he  said 
abruptly : 

"I  think  I  am  the  most  ungrateful  brute  on 
the  face  of  the  earth." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Now,  what  do  you  possibly  mean  by  that?" 
she  asked. 

"Just  what  I  say,"  replied  Desmond. 
"Think  of  yesterday! — think  of  the  horror  in 


80  A  CHANGE  OF  NAME 

which  I  was  involved ;  of  those  who  were  hurled 
into  eternity;  of  the  others  who  are  lying 
maimed  and  suffering  yonder"  (he  flung  out  his 
hand  in  the  direction  of  Kingsford) ;  "and  here 
I  am  as  forgetful  of  it  all,  as  full  of  the  mere 
animal  pleasure  in  life,  as  if  I  were  a  brute 
indeed ! ' ' 

"But  you  are  unjust  to  yourself,' '  she  pro- 
tested. l '  Why  shouldn  't  you  put  it  out  of  your 
mind,  when  remembering  can  do  no  good,  and 
when,  of  course,  you  are  grateful  for  your 
escape  ?" 

"It  is  kind  of  you  to  be  sure  of  that,"  he 
remarked.    ' '  I  am  not  sure. ' ' 

"Not  sure  that  you  are  grateful?  Oh,  im- 
possible!" 

He  looked  at  her  a  little  oddly. 

"It  is  to  be  supposed,"  he  said,  "that  the 
nine  lepers  who  were  cured  long  ago  were 
grateful  in  a  certain  sense ;  but  we  are  told  that 
they  did  not  express  their  gratitude." 

He  almost  laughed  at  the  growing  amaze- 
ment in  the  eyes  that  gazed  at  him. 

"Do  you  mean  the  lepers  in  the  Bible?" 
Edith  asked.  "What  an  extraordinary  young 
man  you  are!  I  didn't  think  that  young  men 
knew  much  about  the  Bible  in  these  days." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  laugh  now,  as  he 
answered : 

"I  fancy  that,  as  a  general  rule,  you  are  quite 
right.    But  some  of  us  are  obliged  to  hear  the 


A  CHANGE  OF  NAME  81 

Gospels  read  occasionally;  and  that  incident, 
with  its  profound  light  on  human  ingratitude, 
early  made  a  deep  impression  on  me.  I  remem- 
ber as  a  child  thinking,  in  a  very  pharisaical 
spirit,  that  /  would  have  been  like  the  only  one 
who  returned  to  give  thanks,  and  not  like  the 
ungrateful  nine.  Yet  now — "  a  gesture  fin- 
ished the  sentence  expressively  enough. 

"But  you  are  grateful,' '  Edith  reiterated  in 
her  astonishment;  "and  of  course  vou  have — 
er — expressed  your  gratitude. ' ' 

"After  a  fashion,  I  suppose  I  have,"  he 
replied;  "but  I  think  I  must  try  to  express  it 
a  little  better. ' '  He  glanced  at  his  watch.  ' '  It 
is  nearly  ten  o  'clock.  I  wonder  if  I  should  have 
time  to  drive  into  Kingsford  before  my  uncle  is 
likely  to  want  me ! ' ' 

' '  I  think  not, ' '  she  answered.  ' l  I  fancy  that 
he  will  want  you  very  soon.  I  know  that  he  has 
asked  both  his  lawyer  and  his  doctor  to  be  here 
this  morning." 

"That  sounds  very  solemn.  What  need  can 
he  have  for  both  of  them  ? ' ' 

"To  make  quite  sure  that  his  will  shall  be 
unassailable,  I  imagine. ' ' 

"Who  would  be  likely  to  assail  it?" 

She  lifted  her  shoulders  lightly. 

"How  should  I  know?  But  it  is  character- 
istic of  him  to  make  things  absolutely  safe, 
whether  there  is  danger  or  not.  Now  shall  we 
go   and   see   him?    I   always   take   him   some 


82  A  CHANGE  OF  NAME 

flowers  in  the  morning,  and  you  can  then  find 
out  exactly  when  he  will  want  you." 

"It  is  clear  that  I  can't  do  better  than  put 
myself  into  your  hands,"  he  said. 

So  they  returned  to  the  house,  and  went 
together  upstairs  to  the  apartments  of  its 
master.  Virgil  opened  the  door  of  the  sitting- 
room  to  Edith's  knock;  but  before  he  could 
answer  her  inquiry,  Judge  Wargrave's  voice 
spoke : 

' '  Yes,  yes,  my  dear !    Come  in. ' ' 

She  entered,  followed  by  Desmond,  who  was 
immediately  struck  by  the  cheerfulness  of  the 
sunshine-flooded  room,  and  by  his  uncle's 
increased  vigor  of  appearance.  He  was  seated 
in  the  same  large  chair  in  which  he  had  been 
sitting  the  night  before;  but  it  was  now  rolled 
over  to  his  desk,  which  was  open.  As  he  turned 
to  greet  them,  Desmond  was  further  struck  by 
the  affectionate  warmth  of  his  manner  to  Edith, 
who  kissed  him  as  if  she  had  been  his  daughter. 

"You  are  feeling  better  to-day,"  she  told 
him,  as  he  patted  her  hand.  i  i  Your  new  physi- 
cian here" — she  glanced  at  Desmond — "has 
done  you  a  world  of  good.  At  this  rate,  we 
shall  have  you  downstairs  in  a  day  or  two. ' ' 

The  Judge  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid  not  so  soon  as  that,"  he 
answered.  "My  legs  are  still  very  untrust- 
worthv.  But  I  do  feel  better — much  better — 
this  morning,  and  no  doubt  the  cause  is  what 


A  CHANGE  OF  NAME  83 

you  say.  I  hope  you  are  quite  well,  my  boy," 
he  added,  looking  at  the  tall  young  man  who 
stood  smiling  down  at  him. 

"As  well  as  possible,  sir,"  Desmond  an- 
swered. "Who  could  be  otherwise  in  this  divine 
climate,  this  beautiful  place?  I  have  just  been 
in  the  garden  with  Edith  enjoying  both. ' ' 

"And  see  what  lovely  roses  I  have  brought 
you!"  Edith  added,  holding  up  the  flowers. 
"They  are  blooming  gloriously  just  now. 
Virgil,  fill  that  vase  with  fresh  water  for  me. ' ' 

Both  men  watched  her  with  a  sense  of  pleas- 
ure as  she  stood  arranging  the  beautiful  blooms 
in  the  tall  crystal  vase  which  Virgil  made  haste 
to  bring  to  her;  and  then  Desmond  was  con- 
scious that  his  uncle's  glance  turned  again  with 
a  certain  keenness  on  himself. 

"And  so  you  like  the  old  place!"  he  said. 
"It  hasn't  disappointed  you — eh?" 

"I  don't  see  how  it  could  possibly  disappoint 
any  one,"  Desmond  replied.  "I  have  never 
seen  a  more  charming  place  in  any  country. 
Everything  about  it  is  so  harmonious, ' ' 

Judge  Wargrave  nodded. 

"Yes,  there's  no  note  of  new  conditions  here. 
You'll  find  them  all  around,  but  not — thank 
God !— at  Hillcrest. "  Then  to  Edith:  "Thank 
you,  my  dear!  Those  roses  are  indeed  lovely. 
Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  leave  Laurence 
with  me ;  and  if  Glynn  or  Blaisdell  come,  send 
either  or  both  of  them  up. ' ' 


84  A  CHANGE  OF  NAME 

Edith's  smile  to  Desmond  said,  "I  told  you 
so!"  as  she  gave  a  last  touch  to  her  roses, 
signified  assent  to  the  directions  ahout  the  doc- 
tor and  lawyer,  and  left  the  room.  Judge  War- 
grave's  glance  followed  her  to  the  door;  and, 
when  it  closed  on  her  graceful  figure,  returned 
to  Desmond,  who  had  meanwhile  sat  down 
beside  him. 

"I  can't  tell  you  what  sunshine  she  has 
brought  into  this  house,  since  she  came  here  as 
a  child, ' '  he  said.  * i  I  could  not  love  her  better 
if  she  were  my  own  daughter. ' ' 

"I  can  easily  believe  it,"  Desmond  answered. 
' 'She  seems  delightful." 

"She  is  just  that — delightful !"  his  uncle  said 
with  emphasis.  "You  will  not  be  surprised 
that  I  have  remembered  her  in  this, '  ■  he  added, 
taking  up  a  legal-looking  paper  which  lay  on 
the  desk  beside  him,  and  which  Desmond  imme- 
diately divined  to  be  his  will.  "I  wish  that  I 
could  have  left  her  more,  but  my  power  is 
limited.  I  have  very  little  to  give  outside  of 
what  must  be  kept  intact. ' ' 

"I  was  under  the  impression,"  Desmond 
remarked,  ' '  that  you  had  power  to  do  what  you 
pleased  with  the  entire  property,  and  I  can  see 
no  reason  why  you  should  not  provide  for  her 
as  liberally  as  you  like." 

Judge  Wargrave  frowned  slightly. 

"That  speech  indicates  that  you  have  not 
grasped  the  nature  of  the  trust  I  hold  and  of 


A  CHANGE  OF  NAME  85 

which  I  have  spoken  to  you, ' '  he  answered.  ' ' 1 
have  a  legal  power  to  do  what  I  please  with  the 
entire  property,  but  I  have  no  moral  right  to 
make  other  than  one  disposition  of  the  greater 
part  of  it.  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  not  yet 
understood  this?" 

"Yes,"  the  young  man  returned,  "I  have 
understood  it.  But — you  see"  (he  hesitated  a 
little),  "you  are  going  out  of  the  regular  suc- 
cession in  choosing  me  as  your  heir — " 

"I  am  doing  nothing  of  the  kind,"  his  uncle 
interposed  sharply.  "I  am,  on  the  contrary, 
complying  exactly  with  the  directions  of  the 
trust, — am  doing  what  I  have  no  choice  but  to 
do. ' '  He  extended  his  thin,  tremulous  hand  and 
took  a  folded  document  out  of  a  pigeonhole 
before  him.  "This  is  a  copy  of  the  will  which 
created  the  trust,"  he  went  on.  "It  was  made 
by  Eobert  Wargrave  in  1784,  after  the  Inde- 
pendence of  the  Colonies  was  assured,  and 
when  he  recognized  what  character  of  legisla- 
tion with  regard  to  rights  of  property  was  to  be 
expected  from  the  spirit  dominant  in  them. 
Here"  (he  folded  back  a  page  of  the  yellow 
paper  and  pointed  to  a  paragraph  marked  in 
red  ink)  "you  can  read  exactly  what  he  made 
binding  in  honor,  if  not  in  law,  upon  his 
descendants. ' ' 

It  was  with  a  strange  thrill,  as  if  he  were 
touching  the  hand  of  the  man  so  long  dead,  that 
Desmond  took  the  old  document,  an  attested 


86  A  CHANGE  OF  NAME 

copy  of  the  original  will  made  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years  before.  Transcribed  in  the  faded, 
yet  beautifully  clear  handwriting  of  the  clerk 
of  the  court  of  that  day,  he  read  the  directions, 
carefully  and  distinctly  expressed,  which  had 
bound  every  Wargrave  up  to  the  last  represen- 
tative of  the  name  who  now  sat  before  him. 
When  he  finally  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  paper 
they  were  very  grave. 

1 '  Yes,  it  is  all  here, ' '  he  said.  i '  He  makes  the 
obligation  to  fulfil  his  wishes  binding  in  honor 
upon  all  his  descendants.  But — forgive  me  if 
I  question  whether  he  had  the  right  to  do  this." 

"Laurence !" 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,"  the  young  man 
went  on  quickly.  "He  had,  without  doubt,  the 
right  to  express  his  wishes,  and  ask  that  they 
should  be  observed  as  far  as  possible;  but  to 
lay  them  with  the  force  of  law  upon  all  who 
were  to  come  after  him,  without  regard  to  other 
conditions  which  might  arise,  seems  to  me 
unreasonable.  Do  you  think,  now,  that  a  man 
would  violate  honor  who,  in  obedience  to  the 
higher  law  of  justice,  should  fail  to  observe  this 
command?" 

"I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  you  mean  by 
'the  higher  law  of  justice, '  "  his  uncle  an- 
swered coldly.  "You  grant,  I  suppose,  the  right 
of  the  owner  to  entail  his  property,  if  the  law 
permitted,  as  property  is  entailed  in  the  old 
country.     Very  well,  then;  how  can  you  deny 


A  CHANGE  OF  NAME  87 

his  right  to  say  to  his  descendants,  'I  am  for- 
bidden, in  the  interest  of  republican  theories,  to 
entail  my  estate  beyond  a  certain  limit;  so  I 
trust  to  your  honor  to  do  what  I  am  unable  to 
do, — to  maintain  this  entail  for  the  sake  of  the 
family  on  the  lines  I  have  laid  down '  %  If  there 
is  no  injustice  in  such  an  entail  for  the  one  or 
two  generations  legally  permitted,  on  what 
principle  does  it  become  unjust  when  put  in 
force  for  any  number  of  generations  1 ' ' 

"I — don't  know,"  Desmond  was  obliged  to 
answer ;  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  his  protest  had 
been  one  of  instinct  and  impulse  rather  than  of 
thought.  He  could  not  mention  the  condition 
which  seemed  to  him  most  hard, — that  which 
declared  the  inheritance  should  be  forfeited  by 
any  form  of  dishonorable  conduct.  And,  after 
all,  he  reminded  himself,  Harry  Wargrave  was 
dead,  and  concern  on  his  behalf  altogether  un- 
necessary. He  glanced  down  again  at  the 
paper  in  his  hand.  "I  observe,' '  he  said,  "that 
those  who  are  in  the  line  of  succession  are  very 
clearly  specified — first,  sons,  with  strict  regard 
to  primogeniture;  or,  failing  these,  the  sons  of 
daughters.  That,  of  course,  is  where  I  come 
in. ' '  He  paused  suddenly,  as  if  struck  by  a  new 
thought.  "I  wonder — "  he  began,  and  paused 
again. 

"What?"  his  uncle  asked,  and  Desmond's 
ear  told  him  that  there  was  a  note  of  distinct 


88  A  CHANGE  OF  NAME 

apprehension,  as  well  as  of  repressed  impa- 
tience, in  his  voice. 

"Only  this,"  the  young  man  answered 
hastily.  "  Since  it  appears  that  I  am  the  sole 
representative  of  the  family  in  my  generation — 
for  so  my  aunt  told  me  last  night, — it  occurs 
to  me  to  wonder  whether,  if  I  had  been  killed 
in  that  railway  accident  yesterday,  you  would 
feel  yourself  free  to  do  with  the  estate  what 
you  like — to  leave  it,  let  us  say,  to  Edith!" 

"Certainly  not,"  Judge  Wargrave  answered 
with  decision.  "I  should  have  to  go  back  a 
generation  to  find  an  heir,  that  is  all." 

* '  Oh,  I  see !  Nothing  short  of  the  wiping  out 
of  all  the  branches  of  the  family  could  release 
you  from  the  obligation  of  renewing  the 
entail. ' ' 

"You  speak  rather  flippantly,"  his  uncle 
said,  "but  you  are  right.  Only  the  extinction 
of  the  family  could  put  an  end  to  the  obligation, 
and  that  is  an  event  which  we  need  not  consider. 
I  am  very  thankful  that  you  were  spared  yes- 
terday ;  but  I  think  that  we  have  had  enough  of 
this  discussion.  Now  I  must  ask  vour  attention 
and  assent  to  one  or  two  points  before  I  sign 
my  will  in  the  presence  of  the  witnesses  whom 
I  am  expecting.  First,  you  understand  that 
you  will  have  no  power  over  the  property, 
except  to  use  its  income  and  hold  the  estate  in 
trust  for  the  heir  of  entail  who  will  succeed 
you?" 


A  CHANGE  OF  NAME  89 

Desmond  nodded.  "I  understand,"  lie  said. 
"I  shall  have  no  responsibility.  I  represent  the 
generation  that  is  bound,  while  the  heir  who 
follows  me  will  be  free — " 

"No."  The  interruption  was  short  and 
stern.  "He  will  be  as  bound  as  you  are — in 
honor.  And  there  your  responsibility  comes 
in:  to  make  him  comprehend  this,  to  hand  on 
the  family  tradition  in  all  its  binding  force. 
That  is  what  you  must  promise  to  do." 

Desmond  smiled  a  little.  It  seemed  difficult 
to  imagine  himself  inculcating  the  Wargrave 
tradition  on  that  shadowy,  non-existent  person- 
ality of  the  future. 

"I  will  promise  to  do  my  best  to  make  the 
obligation  clear  to  whoever  comes  after  me," 
he  said. 

His  uncle  lifted  his  hand  with  the  gesture  of 
one  who  administers  on  oath. 

"You  promise  to  fulfil  the  family  trust  in 
every  particular,  as  far  as  lies  in  your  power, 
so  help  you  God!"  he  dictated  slowly. 

The  solemnity  of  the  last  words  was  so  unex- 
pected that  the  smile  left  Desmond's  lips.  For 
an  instant  he  hesitated,  conscious  of  a  deep 
reluctance  to  bind  himself  in  such  a  manner; 
but  then  the  recollection  came  again  that  he 
was  not  asked  to  promise  anything  against 
which  conscience  could  protest.  Why  should  he 
not  call  God  to  witness  his  intention  to  fulfil  as 
far  as  lay  in  his  power — which  did  not  seem  to 


90  A  CHANGE  OF  NAME 

be  very  far — the  trust  committed  to  him?  He 
met  his  uncle's  piercing  gaze  after  an  instant 
with  a  candid  glance. 

"Yes,"  he  assented.  "I  promise  that — so 
help  me  God ! ' ' 

Something  like  a  sigh  of  relief  came  from  the 
older  man's  lips,  as  he  sank  back  in  his  chair. 

"Well,  that  is  all,"  he  said, — "except  that, 
on  inheriting  the  estate,  you  must  take  the 
name  of  Wargrave. ' ' 

But  here  Desmond  demurred.  "I  don't 
think,"  he  said,  "that  I  can  agree  to  give  up 
my  father 's  name.    I  am  rather  proud  of  it. ' ' 

"Use  both,  then,"  his  uncle  answered.  "It 
is  a  fashion  I  dislike,  but  there  have  been  onlv 
Wargraves  at  Hillcrest  for  close  upon  two  hun- 
dred years,  and  we  can  have  no  change  now." 
Then,  as  voices  and  steps  were  heard  approach- 
ing along  the  corridor  outside,  "There  are 
Glynn  and  Blaisdell,"  he  said.  "Thank 
Heaven,  I  shall  soon  have  the  weight  that  has 
burdened  it  so  long  lifted  from  my  mind ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE 

"Well,"  Desmond  said,  with  a  slightly 
whimsical  smile,  to  Edith,  when  he  met  her  a 
little  later  in  the  hall,  where  the  wide  doors 
were  open  to  the  sunny  brightness  of  the  day, 
and  the  fragrant  breezes  that  swept  through: 
"the  weight  of  the  Wargrave  trust  has  fallen 
upon  my  shoulders.  Do  you  perceive  any 
change  in  my  appearance  ? ' ' 

"What  change  should  there  be!"  she  asked, 
regarding  him  amusedly.  "A  look  of  import- 
ance, perhaps!" 

But  he  shook  his  head.  "By  no  means.  As 
far  as  I  can  make  out,  I  am  of  no  importance 
at  all,  except  to  hand  on  the  estate,  and  incul- 
cate the  binding  nature  of  the  trust  on  a  person 
known  as  'the  heir  of  entail.'  Oh,  by  the  way, 
who  is  Robert  Wargrave  Selwyn  I ' ' 

Edith's  laugh  rang  out.  "Bobby  Selwyn!" 
she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  you  can't  have  forgotten 
him!" 

"By  Jove,  but  I  had!"  Desmond  assured  her. 
"Or  at  least  I  didn't  identify  a  boy  of  that 

91 


92  A  MATTEE  OF  JUSTICE 

name,  whom  I  knew  a  dozen  years  ago,  with  the 
Bobert  Wargrave  Selwyn  whom  I  have  just 
heard  solemnly  declared  the  heir  of  entail,  in 
case  I  die  without  direct  heirs.' ' 

"So  Bobby  is  put  in  the  entail!"  Edith  said, 
in  a  somewhat  awed  tone.  "Of  course  one 
expected  it — he  is  the  nearest  heir  after  your- 
self,— but  it  must  have  gone  hard  with  Uncle 
George;  for  he  doesn't  like  him  at  all." 

"Why  not?" 

"For  the  reason  that  fire  and  water  don't 
agree :  they  are  mutually  antipathetic.  Bobby 
belongs  to  the  new  generation,  is  aggressively, 
offensively  modern,  believes  in  everything  that 
Uncle  George  abhors,  has  enraged  him  by  try- 
ing to  persuade  him  to  sell  some  of  the  Hillcrest 
land  and  water-power  for  a  manufacturing- 
site  ;  and  altogether  made  himself  so  obnoxious 
that  I  think — I  really  think  it  is  one  of  the  finest 
things  I  ever  heard  of  that  Uncle  George  should 
have  named  him  as  an  heir  of  the  property. ' ' 

"I  see  what  you  mean,"  Desmond  said.  "It 
is  fine  that  he  is  able  to  rise  so  entirely  above 
his  personal  feelings,  and  act  according  to  the 
strict  law  of  justice,  in  carrying  out  the  trust 
committed  to  his  hands.  I  wonder — "  And 
then  the  speaker  paused,  as  he  had  paused  after 
the  same  words  when  talking  to  his  uncle  a 
short  time  before. 

Edith  glanced  at  him  curiously.  "What  do 
you  wonder?"  she  asked. 


A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE  93 


<< 


I  seem,'  Desmond  answered,  laughing  a 
little,  "to  have  done  nothing  but  wonder  and 
ask  questions  since  I  have  been  here.  I've  no 
doubt  I  am  a  great  nuisance ;  but,  you  see,  I  am 
so  ignorant. ' ' 

"That's  understood,"  she  told  him,  without 
any  unkind  meaning.  ' '  You  can 't  know  things 
unless  you  have  heard  them;  and,  as  you  were 
good  enough  to  inform  me  last  night,  I  am  a 
good  story-teller ;  so  I  like  to  tell  you  whatever 
I  chance  to  know  of  the  family  affairs .  Again, 
therefore,  what  were  you  wondering  about?" 

"Something  which  I  hardly  think  even  you 
can  tell  me,"  he  replied.  "I  was  wondering 
what  my  uncle  would  do  if  that  high  sense  of 
justice,  which  has  made  him  put  a  man  person- 
allv  obnoxious  to  himself  in  the  succession  to 
the  trust  which  he  holds  so  sacred,  were 
arrayed  against  the  requirement  of  that  trust. ' ' 

Edith  stared.  "I  don't  know  what  you 
mean,"  she  said.    "How  could  that  be?" 

Desmond  flung  out  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of 
a  wide  ignorance.  "That  is  what  I  can  not 
tell,"  he  said.  "It  is  an  abstract  question. 
One  can  only — wonder. ' ' 

' '  You  are  really  a  very  strange  young  man, ' ' 
Edith  remarked,  much  as  she  had  earlier  re- 
marked in  the  garden.  ' '  Things  seem  to  strike 
you  in  a  way  that  is  unusual,  to  say  the  least. 
I  suppose,"  she  added,  "that  we  appear  as  odd 
to  you  as  you  do  to  us ;  and  you  are  trying  to 


94  A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE 

understand  us,  as  if  we  were  characters  in  a 
novel  or  a  play. ' ' 

"No,"  Desmond  replied,  "I  find  nothing  odd 
in  any  one  except  my  uncle.  And  'odd'  is  not 
exactly  the  word  for  him.  It  is  more  that  in 
him  one  sees  a  type  of  character  so  strongly 
marked,  so  individual,  so  built  on  lines  that 
belong  to  the  antique  rather  than  to  the  modern 
world,  that  curiosity  and  interest  are  strongly 
roused;  and,  imagining  certain  tests  applied,  I 
can  only  repeat  that  one  wonders  what  the 
result  would  be. ' ' 

"I  don't  in  the  least  know  how  you  would 
expect  the  test  to  be  applied, ' '  Edith  said,  with 
a  good  deal  of  the  wonder  of  which  he  spoke  in 
her  own  tone ;  ' '  but  I  can  tell  you  that  nothing 
on  earth — and,  like  Mom  Gracie,  I  am  almost 
tempted  to  say,  nothing  in  heaven — could  shake 
his  adherence  to  what  his  standard  of  honor 
demands.  He  proved  that  when  he  sent  his 
only  son  away. ' ' 

"Yes,"  Desmond  agreed.  "It  seems  foolish 
to  think  of  any  further  test  after  that;  and 
yet—" 

He  broke  off  abruptly;  for  at  this  moment 
the  sound  of  voices  made  them  glance  up,  to 
see  the  lawyer  and  doctor,  whom  Desmond  had 
left  with  his  uncle,  coming  around  the  gallery 
which  encircled  the  hall.  They  were  talking 
and  laughing  cheerfully  together,  as  they  des- 
cended  the    staircase — two    middle-aged   men, 


A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE  95 

both  of  the  highest  type  of  their  respective  pro- 
fessions, and  evidently  intimate  friends, — and 
their  cheerfulness  was  proof  that  they  had  left 
their  client  and  patient  in  a  satisfactory  condi- 
tion. Indeed  Dr.  Glynn  expressed  his  satisfac- 
tion when  he  approached  the  two  young  people. 

1  'The  Judge's  improvement  is  extremely 
gratifying;  and,  considering  his  age,  the  most 
remarkable  altogether  that  I  have  ever 
known,"  he  said  to  Edith. 

"I  am  sure  you  must  find  him  much  better 
to-day, ' '  she  answered.  ' '  It  strikes  me  that  he 
is  more  like  himself  than  he  has  been  since  his 
seizure." 

"Yes,"  the  doctor  agreed.  "He  is  very 
much  better  than  he  was  even  yesterday.  I 
suppose  that  we  have  to  thank  Mr.  Desmond 
for  the  improvement.  Your  arrival  has  brought 
great  relief  as  well  as  pleasure  to  your  uncle," 
he  added,  addressing  the  young  man. 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  could  not  have  brought 
the  relief  sooner,"  Desmond  explained;  "but 
I  was  in  remote  Eastern  Europe  when  the  sum- 
mons reached  me.  I  do  not,  however"  (he 
spoke  now  to  the  lawyer),  "understand  why  my 
uncle  should  have  waited  for  my  coming  to 
relieve  his  mind  by  signing  the  will  he  has 
signed  this  morning." 

Mr.  Blaisdell — a  tall  man,  with  a  rugged, 
intellectual  face — put  out  his  lower  lip  in  a 


96  A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE 

manner  very  expressive  and  peculiar  to  him- 
self. 

"I  represented  that  to  him,"  he  said;  "but 
he  seemed  very  anxious  to  see  you,  and,  as  I 
inferred,  to  obtain  from  you  some  kind  of  per- 
sonal pledge  before  signing  the  will.  I  am 
glad,"  he  continued,  "that  you  were  able  to 
satisfy  him  fully.  The  Wargrave  trust  is 
nearer  his  heart  than  anything  else,  and  it  is 
something  that  all  of  us  who  belong  to  the  old 
order  are  anxious  to  have  maintained." 

"It  would  certainly  be  a  pity  if  it  should 
lapse,"  Desmond  assented.  "I  only  wish  that 
there  was  a  Wargrave  to  carry  it  on. ' ' 

The  words  evidently  surprised  and  somewhat 
startled  his  hearers.  They  glanced  at  each 
other  quickly  before  Mr.  Blaisdell  said : 

"No  doubt  we  all  wish  that;  but  we  must  not 
forget  that  you  are  a  Wargrave — in  right  of 
your  mother. ' ' 

"And  in  right  of  something  else,"  added  Dr. 
Glynn,  looking  up  at  the  family  portraits. 
"You  have  the  stamp  of  the  race,  and  that's 
more  than  a  name.  By  the  by" — his  glance 
suddenly  returned  to  the  young  man, — 
"weren't  you  in  that  railway  wreck  yesterday! 
It  would  have  been  a  terrible  blow  to  the  Judge 
if  you  had  been  killed. ' ' 

Desmond  was  unable  to  restrain  a  slight 
laugh.  "Every  one  thinks  of  my  escape  first 
with  regard  to  my  uncle,"  he  said.    "I  am  glad 


A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE  97 

on  his  account  not  to  have  been  killed ;  and  also 
on  my  own.  I  was  fortunately  one  of  the  Pull- 
man passengers,  of  whom  none  were  injured. 
I  am  almost  afraid  to  ask  how  those  who  were 
injured  are  to-day?" 

"Two  more  died  last  night,"  the  doctor 
answered.  "The  rest  will  probably  get  well,  in 
a  more  or  less  maimed  condition.  There  would 
have  been  more  deaths  but  for  the  wonderfully 
good  and  intelligent  service  of  the  nurse,  who 
appears  to  have  been  the  only  person  able  to 
render  aid  to  the  injured  when  the  wreck 
occurred. ' ' 

Desmond  looked  at  Edith.  "You  know  I  told 
you  about  her, ' '  he  said.  ' '  She  was  wonderful. 
I  was  with  her  all  the  time ;  and  it  struck  me — 
though  that  may  have  been  because  of  my  igno- 
rance— that  no  doctor  could  have  done  more  or 
done  better  than  she  did. ' ' 

"No  doubt  you  were  right,"  Dr.  Glynn  told 
him.  "The  first  things  to  be  done  in  case  of 
accident  are  mostly  very  simple,  and  any  well- 
trained  nurse  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  them. 
But  this  young  woman  seems  to  have  displayed 
more  than  ordinary  judgment  and  skill  in  sev- 
eral cases.  Dr.  Fielding,  our  head  surgeon,  was 
speaking  of  her  in  very  high  terms  this 
morning. ' ' 

"Then,"  said  Edith,  "I  suppose  you  will 
keep  her  at  your  hospital?" 

"Oh,  that  I  can't  tell!    But  she  is  certainly 


98  A  MATTEE  OF  JUSTICE 

very  useful  there  just  now.  Well,  Blaisdell,  I 
must  be  going!  Can  I  take  you  in  to  Kings- 
ford  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  mamma  expects  you  both  to 
stay  to  lunch — or  dinner,  if  you  prefer  to  call  it 
that!"  Edith  exclaimed.  "And  here  she  is  to 
tell  you  so." 

Mrs.  Creighton  indeed  appeared  at  the 
moment,  full  of  the  hospitable  intentions  men- 
tioned. But  the  doctor  declared  that,  for  him, 
remaining  longer  was  out  of  the  question;  and 
Mr.  Blaisdell  decided  to  return  with  him  to  the 
town.  As  they  drove  out  of  the  gates  of  Hill- 
crest  a  few  minutes  later,  they  met  a  small  but 
extremely  well-appointed  automobile  just  turn- 
ing in,  which  paused  at  sight  of  them,  while  the 
young  man  driving  it  uttered  the  greeting  of  his 
day  and  kind : 

"Hallo!  How  are  you  both?  I  hope  the 
Judge  isn't  worse?" 

"On  the  contrary,  much  better,"  Dr.  Glynn 
replied.  .  "I  suppose  you've  heard  that  young 
Desmond  has  arrived?" 

"Yes.  Heard  also  that  he  was  in  the  railway 
wreck  yesterday  and  narrowly  escaped  being 
killed.  That  would  have  been  a  blow  to  the 
Judge ! ' ' 

"Pretty  bad,"  Dr.  Glynn  agreed,  with 
amused  remembrance  of  Desmond's  remark 
that  every  one  thought  of  his  escape  first  with 
reference  to  his  uncle.     "But  fortunately  he 


A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE  99 


was  spared,  and  the  Judge  seems  immensely 
pleased  by  his  arrival.' ' 

' '  Oh,  of  course !  Heir  of  the  Wargrave  trust, 
and  all  that  kind  of  thing."  A  laughing  eye 
roved  over  to  Mr.  Blaisdell.  "I  suppose,  from 
the  conjunction  of  the  legal  with  the  medical 
profession,  that  the  trust  has  been  settled  on  its 
heir!" 

"Your  conjecture  is  correct,"  Mr.  Blaisdell 
replied.  "The  Judge  has  just  signed  his  will, 
and  the  Wargrave  trust  is  safe  for  another 
generation. ' ' 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I 
don't  envy  the  inheritor  of  tied-up  property," 
he  remarked.  "I  want  a  free  hand  with  what- 
ever comes  to  me." 

"I'll  be  bound  he  does !"  the  lawver  observed 
dryly  to  his  companion,  as  they  drove  on  a 
moment  later.  "Nobodv  who  knows  Eobert 
Selwyn  will  doubt  that.  I  earnestly  hope  that 
the  Wargrave  property  may  never  come  into 
his  hands." 

"He  would  double  its  value  if  it  did,"  Dr. 
Glvnn  observed.  "Bobbv  has  a  keen  eve  to  the 
main  chance,  and  a  business  abilitv  that  isn't 
common  in  the  class  he  springs  from. ' ' 

"To  be  sure,"  Mr.  Blaisdell  agreed.  "He 
would  plant  factories  and  villages  on  the  estate 
— you  know  how  he  covets  the  water-power, — 
and  make  it  pour  money  into  the  Selwyn  cof- 
fers.   But  meanwhile  the  Wargrave  trust,  and 


100  A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE 

all  that  it  stands  for,  would  vanish  into  thin 
air,  and  never  be  heard  of  again.  Now,  I  think 
we  should  all  be  sorry  for  that." 

"You  and  I,  and  a  few  other  old-fashioned 
people  like  ourselves,  would  be  sorry,' '  the 
doctor  said;  "but  public  sentiment,  money-mad 
and  progress-mad  as  it  is,  would  heartily 
approve. ' ' 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,' '  the  other 
assented ;  and  then  silence  fell  between  them, — 
the  sad  and  slightly  bitter  silence  which  now 
and  then  overtakes  those  who  know  themselves 
to  be  out  of  accord  with  their  time  and  their 
surroundings. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Bobby  Selwyn,  cheerfully 
conscious  of  being  entirely  in  accord  with  both, 
and  superiorly  compassionate  of  those  who 
were  not,  proceeded  on  his  way,  spinning  mer- 
rily around  the  drive  which  circled  the  hill,  and 
announcing  his  arrival  by  two  or  three  honks  of 
his  horn,  although  well  aware  that  the  sound 
was  detestable  to  Judge  Wargrave. 

"Here  comes  a  motor!"  Desmond  remarked, 
stepping  to  the  door  at  the  sound  so  familiar 
to  modern  ears. 

"It's  Bobby  Selwyn,"  Edith  said,  as  she 
followed  him,  and  saw  the  young  man  who  drew 
up  his  car  before  the  portico.  ' l  How  often  have 
you  been  told  not  to  make  that  odious  noise 
within  the  grounds  of  Hillcrest?"  she  de- 
manded severely  of  the  latter,  as  he  sprang  out 


A  MATTEJR  OF  JUSTICE  101 

and  came  up  the  steps.  " There  isn't  the  least 
necessity  for  it. ' ' 

" There's  the  necessity  of  letting  you  know, 
without  the  possibility  of  mistake,  who  is  com- 
ing, ' '  he  laughed ;  ' '  for  I  am  sure  I  am  the  only 
person  bold  enough  to  sound  a  horn  within  the 
sacred  precincts  of  Hillcrest. ' ' 

' '  I  shouldn  't  call  it  '  bold  enough, '  but  incon- 
siderate enough,"  she  retorted.  ."You  know 
that  it  annoys  Uncle  George  extremely. ' ' 

"But  he's  well  enough  again  to  be  slightly 
annoyed, ' '  the  young  man  answered,  still  laugh- 
ing. "At  the  gate  I  met  Dr.  Glynn,  who  gave 
such  a  good  account  of  him  that  I  felt  impelled 
to  honk  my  congratulations  before  I  could  utter 
them  in  person.  So  glad  to  hear  that  he  is  much 
better,  and  that  his  mind  has  been  relieved  by 
the  arrival  of — " 

"Laurence  Desmond,  yes,"  Edith  said  as  he 
paused.  She  turned  toward  Desmond.  "Do  I 
need  to  introduce  you  two!"  she  asked.  "You 
used  to  know  each  other  quite  well. ' ' 

"And  we  are  kinsmen,  besides,"  Selwyn 
added.  "No,  I  don't  think  you  need  to  intro- 
duce us.  I  should  have  known  Laurie,  as  we 
used  to  call  him  when  he  was  a  boy,  if  I  had 
met  him  on  the  highway. ' ' 

"I  can't  say  as  much  for  my  recollection  of 
you,"  Desmond  said,  as  they  shook  hands. 
"Perhaps  my  memory  is  not  so  good;  at  least 


102  A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE 

I  don't  think  I  should  have  known  you  on  the 

highway. ' ' 

"Oh,  it  isn't  a  question  of  memory  so  much 
as  of  family  likeness !"  the  other  remarked. 
"You  are  very  like  the  Wargraves.  The  Judge 
must  have  been  pleased  to  see  that. ' ' 

"He  was,"  Desmond  replied;  "and  the  like- 
ness must  be  strong  since  every  one  remarks 
it." 

"  It  is  strong, ' '  Selwyn  said,  glancing  at  him 
keenly.  "And  of  course  the  old  gentleman 
hopes  that  it  isn't  only  physical,  but  that  you 
are  a  Wargrave  through  and  through." 

"From  what  I  have  heard  of  the  Wargraves, 
I  have  no  objection  to  hoping  so,"  Desmond 
answered.  "The  family  characteristics  seem 
very  fine. ' ' 

"Yes,  they're  fine,"  Bobby  Selwyn  admitted, 
in  a  tone  of  extremely  tempered  approval. 
"Not  perhaps  entirely  suited  to  the  present 
day,  but  we  needn't — er — enter  upon  that." 

"No,  we  needn't,"  Edith  agreed  with 
decision.  ' i  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
begin  to  betray  at  once  your  highly  objection- 
able opinions,  and  your  personal  deterioration 
from  the  standards  of  some  at  least  of  your 
ancestors." 

Her  tone,  not  to  speak  of  her  words,  might 
have  had  a  crushing  effect  upon  many  men ;  but 
Bobby  Selwyn  shook  his  head  in  smiling 
protest. 


A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE  103 

"Say  what  you  please  of  me,  but  don't  reflect 
upon  my  poor  Selwyn  forbears  in  that  manner, 
Edith,"  he  answered.  "I  really  don't  think 
they  are  accountable  for  what  you  find  objec- 
tionable in  my  character,  although  I  fear  my 
mother  inclines  to  your  opinion." 

* '  I  am  sure  she  does, ' '  Edith  told  him.  ' i  She 
is  constantly  regretting  that  you  are  not  more 
of  a  Wargrave." 

"While  she  derives  great  satisfaction  from 
certain  results  which  we  may  assume  to  come 
from  the  other  strain,"  he  commented.  "But, 
then,    one    doesn't    look    for    consistency    in 


woman. ' ' 


' '  One  is  quite  as  likely  to  find  it  in  woman  as 
in  man,  I  think,"  said  Edith.  "You  always  try 
to  provoke  me,  Bobby." 

"You  are  so  entertaining  when  you  are  pro- 
voked!" Bobby  murmured. 

"But  we  need  not  entertain  Laurence  with 
our  quarrels,"  said  Edith.  "Do  you  want  to 
see  Uncle  George?  Of  course  he  has  heard 
your  considerate  announcement  of  arrival." 

"I  doubt  very  much  whether  Uncle  George 
cares  about  seeing  me,"  Mr.  Selwyn  replied; 
"but  we  can  at  least  give  him  the  option  of 
doing  so  if  he  likes.  Kindly  let  him  know  that 
I  have  called  to  inquire  how  he  is,  as  well  as 
to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  Desmond,  and — 
incidentally — to  see  yourself." 

"I  will  take  care,"  Edith  assured  him  with  a 


104  A  MATTER  OF  JUSTICE 

laugh,  "that  your  seeing  me  is  altogether  inci- 
dental. Now  I'll  go  and  send  your  message  up 
to  Uncle  George.' ' 

"Is  it  necessary  to  be  in  such  haste  about 
that!" 

"Quite  necessary,  I  think,  since  it  will  give 
you  an  opportunity  to  apologize  without  delay 
for  rasping  his  nerves  with  a  noise  he  detests. ' ' 

Selwyn  lifted  his  brows,  as  he  met  Desmond's 
eyes,  while  Miss  Creighton  entered  the  house. 

"I  suppose,"  he  remarked,  "that  you  have 
already  discovered  something  of  the  autocratic 
qualities  of  this  young  lady,  who,  I  may  confide 
to  you,  is  the  absolute  ruler  of  Hillcrest  and 
everybody  in  it." 


CHAPTER  IX 

LAUEENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN 

The  beautiful  day  had  mellowed  to  a  golden 
afternoon — one  of  those  perfect  October  after- 
noons when  the  earth  seems  transformed  into 
a  magical  world  of  burning  color — when  Des- 
mond found  himself  whirling  along  the  road 
from  Hillcrest  to  Kingsford  in  the  motor  car 
of  his  newly  discovered  kinsman,  who,  learning 
after  lunch  that  he  intended  going  into  town, 
insisted  upon  having  the  pleasure  of  taking  him 
there. 

Desmond,  on  his  part,  had  no  objection.  He 
was  modern  enough  to  like  the  swift  motion,  the 
sense  of  power,  in  the  car  which,  in  its  ugliness, 
its  utility,  and  its  capability  of  ruthless  action, 
typifies  the  spirit  of  modernity  more  thor- 
oughly than  any  other  invention  of  the  time. 
He  was,  besides,  not  averse  to  seeing  more  of 
one  who  struck  him  as  being  as  much  a  product 
of  new  conditions  as  the  machine  he  drove. 
Certainly  there  was  nothing  even  remotely  sug- 
gestive of  the  old  South,  with  its  high  ideals, 
its  dignity  and  repose,  in  the  alert  young  man, 
with  his  outspoken  materialism,  his  admiration 
of  "  progress/ '  and  veiled  but  unmistakable 
contempt  for  all  the  standards  of  the  past. 

105 


106    LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN 

"Yes,  it's  a  pretty  country,"  he  temperately 
remarked,  in  answer  to  some  expression  of 
admiration  from  his  companion;  "and  a  fine 
estate,  though  poorly  managed.  I  hope  you'll 
make  a  change  in  the  last  respect  when  it  comes 
into  your  hands." 

To  this  Desmond  replied  that  he  trusted  it 
would  be  a  long  time  before  it  came  into  his 
hands,  and  further  pointed  out  that,  even  when 
it  did  so,  his  power  to  make  changes  would  be 
very  limited. 

"You  are  mistaken  about  that,"  Selwyn 
answered.  "You  will  probably  have  power  to 
do  whatever  you  like,  short  of  alienating  any  of 
the  property.  I  have  made  inquiries ;  for,  you 
see,  there  was  a  chance — in  case  anything  hap- 
pened to  you — that  I  might  be  inheritor.  I'm 
the  next  of  kin  after  yourself;  and,  although 
the  Judge  dislikes  me,  I  was  pretty  sure  he 
wouldn't  disregard  the  injunctions  of  the  trust 
about  selecting  an  heir. ' ' 

Desmond  reflected  that  it  was  not  his  place 
to  tell  him  how  sure  he  might  be  of  this,  and 
merely  remarked  that  he  had  come  very  near 
finding  himself  the  next  of  kin  without  any  one 
intervening. 

"If  my  Pullman  had  gone  over  in  the  wreck 
yesterday,  as  it  was  perilously  close  upon 
doing,  the  way  might  have  been  cleared  for 
you, ' '  he  added. 

"I'm  extremely  glad  that  it  wasn't,"  Bobby 


LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN    107 

handsomely  assured  him, — "glad  not  only  for 
your  personal  escape,  and  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  you,  but  glad  also  to  be  spared  an 
embarrassing  position.  If  the  Judge  had  been 
obliged  to  leave  the  estate  to  me,  he  would  have 
bound  it  up  in  every  possible  way  that  the  law 
permits,  and  I'd  have  no  more  liberty  when  it 
came  to  me  than  a  legal  infant.  That  wouldn't 
suit  me  at  all.  I'm  a  keen  business  man — 
everyone  will  tell  you  that, — and  I  don't  want 
to  handle  anything  that  I  can't  make  the  most 
of,  from  a  business  point  of  view.  So  you  may 
feel  quite  certain  that  I'm  not  envying  you  your 
position  as  the  Wargrave  heir;  and  I'm  hon- 
estly delighted  that  you  seem  so  well  fitted  to 
please  the  old  Judge,  who  isn't  easy  to  please, 
I  can  tell  you. ' ' 

Desmond  laughed,  remembering  the  expres- 
sively caustic  glances  with  which  Judge  War- 
grave  had  regarded  the  speaker  during  their 
brief  interview. 

"I  sincerely  hope  that  I  shall  please  him," 
he  said.  "But  I  can't  forget  that  1  am  neces- 
sarily an  unknown  quantity  to  him;  and  it  is 
perhaps  fortunate  that  I  may  not  be  here  very 
long,  since  points  of  difference  might  possibly 
arise  between  us." 

Selwyn  flashed  a  round-eyed  stare  at  him. 
What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  asked. 

Aren't  you  going  to  stay,  and  take  up  the 


1 1 


108  LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN 


duties  of  heir  apparent?  I  know  that  is  what 
the  Judge  expects." 

"I  hope  not,"  Desmond  answered, — "I  mean 
I  hope  that  he  doesn't  expect  anything  of  the 
kind;  for,  if  so,  I  shall  have  to  disappoint  him. 
I  have  no  intention  of  giving  up  my  profession 
at  the  present  time,  and  I  am  here  only  on  a 
visit. ' ' 

"Why,  that's  really  too  had!"  Selwyn  ex- 
claimed,— hut  Desmond's  quick  ear  detected 
something  of  relief  in  the  voice.  "The  Judge 
will  be  awfully  disappointed,  I'm  confident. 
And  we  all  hoped  you  were  coming  to  remain. 
I  can  imagine,  however,  that  it  might  readily 
seem  a  trifle  dull  to  you  here,  after  the  life 
you've  lived.  You  are  a  newspaper  man,  aren't 
you?" 

' '  I  am  one  of  the  stormy  petrels  who  are  sent 
wherever  trouble  is  brewing,"  Desmond  told 
him.  "In  times  of  war  we  are  called  war  cor- 
respondents ;  at  other  times  we  are  ordinary 
correspondents  of  the  papers  with  which  we  are 
connected.  I  was  in  the  Balkans,  studying  con- 
ditions when  my  uncle 's  summons  reached  me. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  see!"  Bobby's  tone  was  rather 
vague, — perhaps  because  he  was  conscious  of  a 
large  ignorance  regarding  conditions  in  the 
Balkans,  or  perhaps  because  he  had  just  nar- 
rowly missed  collision  with  a  wagon,  the  driver 
of  which  scowled  at  him  with  the  animositv 
which  the  motorist  is  accustomed  to  inspiring, 


LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN    109 

and  apparently  finds  a  source  of  keen  enjoy- 
ment. "Here  we  are  in  Kingsford!"  he 
remarked.  They  were,  in  fact,  whirling  into  the 
town,  without  any  lessening  of  speed  in  con- 
sideration for  the  traffic  of  the  streets.  "Can 
I  take  you  to  any  place  in  particular,  or  will 
you  come  immediately  home  with  me?  My 
mother  will  be  delighted  to  see  you. ' ' 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  call  on  her  a  little 
later,"  Desmond  replied;  "but  just  now  I  will 
ask  you  to  be  good  enough  to  set  me  down  at 
the  Catholic  church.' ' 

"At  the — er — "  Selwyn's  stare  this  time 
was  wide  indeed. 

"Catholic  church,"  Desmond  quietly  re- 
peated. "There  must  be  one,  since  there  is  a 
resident  priest  here." 

"Oh,  yes,  there's  a  Catholic  church,  and  a 
priest  too ! ' '  Selwyn  said.  ' '  I  was  only  a  little 
surprised;  but  now  I  remember.  You're  a 
Romanist  yourself,  aren't  you?" 

"I'm  a  Catholic,  yes." 

"Beg  pardon!  The  other  name  slipped  out. 
By  George!" — the  speaker  ruminated, — 
"that's  a  point  that  won't  please  the  Judge." 

"No,"  Desmond  agreed,  "it  doesn't  please 
him  at  all;  but  he  is  kind  enough  to  overlook 
what  he  knows  can  not  be  changed.  Is  this  the 
church?" 

The  question  was  natural,  since  they  had 
drawn  up  before  a  building  which,  but  for  the 


110    LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN 

cross  over  it,  might  have  been  taken  for  a  fac- 
tory, with  its  plain  red  brick  walls  and  ntter 
absence  of  any  architectural  pretension. 

"This  is  it,"  Selwyn  answered.  "And 
there's  the  priest's  residence  next  door.  Well, 
shall  I  wait  for  yon,  or  where  can  I  meet  yon? 
I  want  to  take  you  back  to  Hillcrest,  you 
know. ' ' 

' l  Oh,  thanks !  You  are  very  kind, ' '  Desmond 
responded.  "But  Edith  said  she  would  be  driv- 
ing in  later,  and  I  will  return  with  her.  As  soon 
as  I  have  paid  a  short  visit  to  Father — what  is 
his  name?" 

"Martin,  I  believe." 

' l  To  Father  Martin,  then, — I  will  meet  you  at 
your  own  house,  where  I  wish  to  call  on  your 
mother. ' ' 

*  i  Better  let  me  come  for  you.  It 's  a  long  way 
from  here  to  our  house.  Won't  half  an  hour  be 
enough  for  your  visit?  All  right, ' '  as  Desmond 
nodded  assent;  "I'll  be  back  in  that  time." 

The  car  whizzed  away,  and  the  young  man 
left  standing  on  the  pavement,  after  regarding 
for  an  instant,  with  an  expression  of  extreme 
disapproval,  the  hideous  erection  before  him, 
moved  forward  and  entered  its  open  door. 
However  much  his  aesthetic  taste  revolted  from 
this  manner  of  housing  the  Presence  that  dwells 
in  Catholic  sanctuaries,  he  knew  too  well  what 
that  Presence  was  to  fail  in  paying  his  first 
visit  there.     And  if  failure  had  been  possible 


LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN    111 

under  other  circumstances — for  faith  is  one 
thing,  and  fervor  another, — it  was  not  possible 
in  the  light  of  that  delayed  duty  of  thanks  of 
which  he  had  spoken  to  Edith  Creighton. 

Fervor  being  considerably  less  than  faith, 
however,  it  was  not  a  very  long  time  before  he 
was  ringing  the  bell  of  the  priest's  residence. 
The  door  was  opened  by  the  same  tall,  spare 
man,  now  wearing  a  cassock,  whom  he  had  met 
at  the  railway  wreck.  Recognition  was  mutual, 
and  Father  Martin  cordially  put  out  his  hand. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again,' '  he  said. 
' '  I  have  been  regretting  that  we  parted  without 
my  learning  your  name. ' ' 

Desmond  mentioned  his  name;  and  when,  in 
response  to  hospitable  invitation,  he  followed 
the  priest  into  a  pleasant,  book-lined  study,  and 
sat  down,  he  was  struck  by  something  unusual 
in  the  personality  facing  him.  It  was  not  only 
that  the  sacerdotal  stamp  was  so  strongly  set 
on  it — that  stamp  which  attracts  a  Catholic  as 
much  as  it  offends  and  repels  in  its  aloofness 
those  outside  the  Church, — but  there  was  an 
expression  at  once  keen  and  reserved — the  ex- 
pression of  one  who  observes  shrewdly  and 
speaks  little — in  the  deep-set  eyes  and  on  the 
high-featured,  thin-lipped  countenance.  Those 
eyes  now  plainly  asked,  "What  can  I  do  for 
you?"  and  Desmond  made  no  delay  in  stating 
his  business. 

"I  have  come,  Father,' '  he  said,  "to  ask  you 


112    LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN 

to  say  a  few  Masses  for  my  intention;  and  I 
would  also  like  you  to  say  one  or  two  for  the 
repose  of  the  soul  of  the  man — I  don't  know  his 
name — who  died  just  after  you  reached  him  at 
the  railway  wreck  yesterday.' ' 

"Yes."  The  priest  elevated  his  brows 
slightly,  as  he  glanced  at  the  numeral  on  the 
bill  handed  him.  "You  want  all  of  this  applied 
in  Masses!"  he  inquired. 

' '  If  you  please, ' '  Desmond  replied.  ' '  I  feel, ' ' 
he  explained,  "that  I  owe  something  more  in 
the  way  of  thanks  for  my  escape  from  injury 
or  death  than  my  own  poor  words  can  express ; 
and  it's  a  great  thing  to  have  a  religion  which 
offers  one  a  complete  mode  of  expression." 

A  smile  curved  the  priest 's  thin  lips. 

"It's  a  convenient  thing  occasionally,"  he 
remarked.  "But  I  don't  suppose  you  alto- 
gether neglect  the  duty  of  personal  expression, 
however  poor  in  form  it  may  be.  Your  thought 
of  the  Eequiem  Masses,"  he  added,  "is  very 
kind  and  charitable.  The  man's  name,  by  the 
way,  was  Tracy.  You  didn't  know  anything 
about  him,  then?" 

"Nothing  in  the  world,  except  that  he  asked 
for  a  priest,  and  so  was  clearly  a  Catholic." 

* '  And  he  owed  to  you  the  chance  to  reconcile 
himself  with  God  before  he  died, — I  heard  that 
later.  Well,  he  got  his  absolution;  and  we'll 
hope  it  was  effective,  as  he  had  the  intention,  at 


LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN    113 

least,  to  repair  whatever  wrong  he  had  com- 
mitted against  others." 

"It  was  most  unfortunate  his  failure  to  men- 
tion an  essential  name,"  said  Desmond.  "I 
couldn't  help  hearing  as  much  as  that,  you 
know. ' ' 

"Of  course  not.  It  was  indeed  unfortunate, 
since  it  renders  the  reparation  he  desired  to 
make  impossible." 

"I  have  been  wondering  a  little  about  the 
matter,' '  Desmond  said, — "especially  as  I  lay 
awake  last  night;  for  my  nerves  were  out  of 
order,  I  suppose,  and  I  found  it  difficult  to 
sleep.  Every  time  I  closed  my  eyes  I  waked 
with  a  start,  to  see  all  the  horrors  of  the  wreck 
before  me  again,  to  hear  the  cries — "  he  broke 
off,  shuddering  slightly.  "It  was  partly  to 
distract  my  mind  by  thinking  of  something  not 
wholly  horrible,"  he  went  on,  "that  I  fell  to 
reflecting  upon  the  man  of  whom  we  speak,  and 
the  wonderful  expression  that  came  into  his 
face  when  he  saw  you.  He  may  have  been  a 
poor  Catholic,  and  he  was  certainly  a  careless 
one;  for  he  didn't  know  even  as  much  as  /  do 
about  some  things — how  to  make  an  act  of  con- 
trition, for  example, — but  I  wish  I  could  hope 
that  I  had  half  as  much  living  faith  as  he 
showed  then." 

"It  is  likely,"  observed  Father  Martin,  who 
found  the  simplicity  and  frankness  of  this 
young  man  very  attractive,  "that  if  you  were 


114    LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN 

placed  in  his  position,  you  would  discover  that 
you  did  have  it. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  not, — at  least  not  in  such  a 
degree/ '  Desmond  answered.  "But  to  return 
to  my  point.  I  began  to  wonder  about  his  con- 
fession, the  desire  to  make  reparation  for  some 
wrong,  the  name  unintentionally  omitted;  and 
it  occurred  to  me  that  I  would  ask  you  if  there 
is  no  way  of  finding  out  what  he  meant — of  sup- 
plying the  name, — and  so  accomplishing  what 
he  desired  !" 

The  priest  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"But  he  begged  you  to  tell  something — to 
make  reparation  to  some  one!"  Desmond 
urged.  ' '  Even  before  you  came,  he  had  spoken 
of  a  wrong  that  was  on  his  conscience.  It  seems 
to  me  that  if  we  could  help  him  in  this  way,  now 
that  he  is  no  longer  able  to  help  himself,  it 
would  be  the  greatest  charity  one  could  do  for 
him. ' ' 

"It  would  be  a  great  charity,  and  most 
desirable  in  every  way, ' '  Father  Martin  admit- 
ted. * '  But  I  don 't  see — however,  I  will  think  of 
it  further,  and  consult  the  bishop.  Meanwhile 
there  is  no  harm  in  making  a  few  discreet 
inquiries  about  his  life.  Here  is  all  I  have  been 
able  to  learn  concerning  him."  He  turned  in 
his  chair,  took  up  a  note-book  from  the  desk 
beside  which  he  sat,  and  glanced  at  an  entry. 
"  'James  L.  Tracy/  "  he  read,  "  'travelling 
salesman  for  an  importing  house  of  wines  and 


LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN    115 

liquors  in  New  York.'  This  is  what  the  letters 
and  papers  in  his  pockets  showed  him  to  be. 
There  was,  it  seems,  no  personal  data  of  any 
kind.  The  house  has  been  communicated  with ; 
but  if  they  can  give  no  information  about  his 
family  or  friends,  his  body  will  be  buried  here. 
I  may  add" — he  glanced  up  from  the  book — 
"that  I  said  Mass  this  morning  for  the  repose 
of  his  soul,  and  this  sums  up  all  that  is  known 
about  him  at  present." 

"I  will  try  to  find  out  something  more," 
Desmond  said,  with  an  air  of  determination. 
"I  can  not  forget  how  anxious  he  seemed  that 
this  thing,  whatever  it  was,  should  be  done.  He 
told  us — the  nurse  and  myself — before  you 
came,  that  he  wasn't  thinking  only  of  absolu- 
tion for  himself,  but  that  there  was  a  wrong  on 
his  conscience  that  he  must  set  right  before  he 
died.  I  can  hear  his  voice  now  as  he  said:  'I 
can't  face  God  with  that  on  my  soul.'  "  There 
was  a  brief  pause,  and  then,  "Don't  think  me 
fanciful,  Father,"  the  speaker  went  on,  in  a 
lower  tone;  "but  all  last  night  I  had  a  feeling 
as  if  he  were  in  some  way  influencing,  appealing 
to  me.  It  may  have  been  only  my  vivid  recollec- 
tion of  what  he  really  did  say,  of  his  earnest- 
ness, his  urgency;  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  he 
were  saying  again,  from  some  vague,  remote 
region — I'm  expressing  myself  very  badly  but 
perhaps  you'll  understand  what  I  mean, — 'You 


116    LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN 

helped  me  before;  help  me  again,  who  can  no 
longer  help  myself. '  ' ' 

The  voice  dropped;  but,  despite  the  hesita- 
tion and  evident  difficulty  with  which  the  words 
had  been  uttered,  the  sincerity  and  feeling 
behind  them  were  evident  to  the  priest.  He  had 
certainly  not  expected  to  find  as  much  percep- 
tion of  spiritual  things  as  they  implied  in  this 
young  man,  on  whom  the  habitudes  and  marks 
of  a  world  which  recognizes  nothing  spiritual 
sat  so  lightly  and  easily;  but  he  was  too  wise, 
in  his  experience  of  matters  which  relate  to  the 
mysterious  soul  of  man,  to  be  incredulous. 

"It  is  possible,''  he  said,  "that  God  may 
have  permitted  you  to  be  influenced  by,  or  on 
behalf  of,  the  poor  soul;  or  it  may  be  only  a 
charitable  impulse  of  your  own  soul.  But  in 
either  case  you  can 't  go  wrong  in  trying  to  help 
him  in  the  manner  indicated, — that  is,  by  find- 
ing out  something  which  would  open  the  way 
for  the  reparation  he  desired  to  make." 

"You  can't  give  me  any  clue  to  work  on?" 
asked  Desmond. 

The  priest  shook  his  head  again,  smiling  a 
little. 

"Non  possurnus,"  he  said.  "Besides,  even 
if  I  were  at  liberty  to  speak,  I  don't  think  I 
could  give  such  a  clue.  It  was  all  very  vague — 
what  he  said, — as  is  generally  the  case  near 
death.  Often  one  hardly  knows  what  one  has 
or  has  not  heard ;  and  one  gives  absolution  at 


LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN  117 

last  with  only  a  great  hope  in  the  mercy  of  God. 
But  if  you  can  learn  anything  that  might  throw 
light  on  the  confession,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
be  informed  of  it.  You  are  staying  in  Kings- 
ford!" 

"For  the  present,"  Desmond  answered.  "I 
am  a  stranger  myself,  but  I  have  relatives  here, 
some  of  whom  you  may  know.  Judge  War- 
grave  is  my  uncle. ' ' 

"Oh,  Judge  Wargrave!"  Father  Martin's 
glance  spoke  his  surprise.  "Every  one  in 
Kingsford  knows  Judge  Wargrave  and  esteems 
him  highly.  In  fact,  Kingsford  is  very  proud 
of  him — there  are  few  such  representatives  of 
the  old  social  order  left, — and  there  was  general 
deep  regret  at  his  late  illness.  We  are  all  glad 
to  learn  that  he  is  better,  and — are  you  the 
nephew  of  whose  expected  arrival  we  have 
heard  so  much?"  he  broke  off  with  a  flash  of 
sudden  illumination. 

' '  I  was  not  aware  that  much  had  been  said  of 
me, ' '  Desmond  replied ;  ' '  but  I  am  no  doubt  the 
person  to  whom  you  allude,  since  I  am  Judge 
Wargrave  's  only  nephew. ' ' 

"And  the  heir  of  the  Wargrave  trust!" 
Father  Martin  considered  him  now  with  a 
regard  that  was  frankly  curious.  "Yes,  of 
course  everybody  has  heard  of  that.  But  how 
does  it  come  about  that  you  are  a  Catholic?" 

"Doesn't  my  name  tell  you?"  Desmond 
asked.    ' '  My  father  was  an  Irishman. ' ' 


118    LAURENCE  MEETS  FATHER  MARTIN 

"Ah,  if  you  knew  the  number  of  Irish  names 
scattered  over  this  country,  borne  by  those 
whose  parents  sold  their  Faith  for  a  mess  of 
worldly  pottage,  you  would  not  think  that  told 
much!"  the  priest  rejoined,  a  little  bitterly. 
"But  I  congratulate  you  on  having  had  a  father 
of  a  different  mettle,  and  I  am  very  glad  to 
welcome  you  to  Kingsford,  Mr.  Desmond." 

"I  shall  not  probably  be  here  very  long," 
Desmond  began,  when  a  sudden  ' '  honk !  honk ! ' ' 
made  him  rise  with  a  quick  "Pardon"  and 
glance  out  of  the  window.  Yes,  Selwyn  and  his 
car  were  awaiting  him;  so,  bidding  the  priest 
good-day,  and  promising  to  report  anything 
that  he  was  able  to  learn  about  the  dead  man 
in  whom  they  were  both  interested,  he  took  his 
departure. 


CHAPTER  X 

MES.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED 

"Bobby,"  Desmond  said,  as  he  stepped  into 
the  waiting  car,  "will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
take  me  to  the  shop  of  your  principal  under- 
taker f ' ' 

"Well,  by  George!"  Mr.  Selwyn,  hand  on 
wheel,  paused  to  stare  helplessly.  "Where  will 
you  want  to  go  next, — to  the  cemetery?" 

"Not  yet,"  Desmond  replied,  with  a  laugh. 
"It  seems  odd,  no  doubt;  but  I  suppose  I  shall 
find  at  the  undertaker's  the  body  of  a  man  who 
was  killed  in  the  railway  wreck  yesterday. ' ' 

"And  why  on  earth  should  you  want  to  find 
it?  Shouldn't  think  you'd  ever  want  to  be 
reminded  of  that  wreck  again." 

"I've  a  reason  for  desiring  to  learn  anything 
I  can  about  this  particular  man.  I  was  with 
him  when  he  died,  and  he  wanted  something 
done.  I  have  just  learned  from  Father  Martin 
that  the  body  is  held  while  efforts  are  being 
made  to  hear  from  his  friends,  and  I  want  to 
find  out  if  they  have  been  heard  from. ' ' 

"I  see."    Without  more  words  Selwyn  sent 

119 


120  MRS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED 

tlie  car  spinning  down  the  street,  flashed 
around  corners,  and  finally  reached  the  busi- 
ness part  of  the  town,  where  he  paused  before 
a  large  furniture  shop.  "I  fancy  you'll  find 
what  you  want  here,"  he  said.  "There's  an 
undertaking  establishment  connected  with  this, 
and  an — er — apartment  which  bears  the  awful 
name  of  a  i mortuary  parlor.'  " 

He  proved  to  be  right.  The  head  of  the 
establishment — a  sallow,  black-eyed  man,  whom 
nature  appeared  to  have  fashioned  for 
funereal  purposes — came  forward,  and,  in 
reply  to  Desmond's  inquiries,  stated  that  the 
"remains"  in  question  were  indeed  in  his 
mortuary  parlor,  awaiting  the  final  orders  of 
the  railway  officials  for  their  disposition.  Noth- 
ing, it  seemed,  had  as  yet  been  heard  from  any 
relatives. 

"If  you  were  a  friend  of  the  gentleman,"  he 
remarked  to  the  young  man,  "perhaps  you 
would  like  to  look  at  the  corpse.  It  has  been 
very  nicely  embalmed  and  placed  in  a  good 
casket. ' ' 

"Oh,  no!  Thanks!"  Desmond  replied  a 
little  hastily;  for  it  is  rather  a  curious  fact 
that  cultured  human  nature  is  as  anxious  to 
avoid  all  sights  and  suggestions  of  death  as 
uncultured  human  nature  is  eagerly  attracted 
by  them.  "I  was  not  a  friend,  not  even  an 
acquaintance  of  the  man,"  he  explained;  "but 
I  was  with  him  when  he  died;  and,  in  order  to 


MRS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED  121 

fulfil  a  last  wish  which  he  expressed,  I  should 
like  to  know  who  his  friends  or  relatives  are. 
If  any  are  heard  from,  may  I  beg  you  to  com- 
municate with  me!  Here  is  my  card,  and  you 
will  find  me  at  Hillcrest, — the  Wargrave  place, 
you  know. ' ' 

'  *  Oh,  yes  ! ' '  Mr.  Simpson  knew  very  well ; 
and  his  manner  took  an  additional  shade  of 
empressment  as  he  assured  Desmond  that  he 
would  certainly  let  him  know  as  soon  as  any- 
thing was  heard  from  or  about  Mr.  Tracy's 
friends  or  relatives. 

1 ' Well,  that  being  settled/'  Selwyn  said,  as 
they  drove  away,  '4s  there  any  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  go  to  see  my  mother  now!  She  is 
expecting  you. ' ' 

1 '  On  the  contrary,  I  was  about  to  ask  you  to 
take  me  to  see  her  at  once,"  Desmond  an- 
swered. 

Back  they  whizzed,  into  the  residence  part  of 
the  town,  and  on  its  extreme  verge  entered  the 
open  gates  of  a  large  and  ornate  modern  house 
— a  granite  and  brick  imitation  of  a  French 
chateau, — which  stood  in  the  midst  of  wide, 
handsome  grounds,  with  a  fine  view  of  the  open 
country  behind  it. 

"I  don't  think,"  Desmond  remarked,  "that 
this  is  where  you  lived  when  I  was  here 
before." 

"Oh,  yes!"  Selwyn  replied,  as  they  drew  up 
under   the   porte-cochkre;   "this   is   where   we 


122  MRS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED 

lived;  but  it's  a  different  house,  you  see.  We 
built  this  a  few  years  ago.  It's  the  finest  resi- 
dence in  Kingsf ord  now. ' ' 

"I  should  think  it  might  be,"  Desmond 
observed,  suppressing  an  expression  of  regret 
for  the  old  Southern  mansion,  full  of  unpre- 
tentious dignity,  which  had  been  destroyed  to 
make  way  for  this  costly  erection  without  any 
suggestion  of  the'  country  or  its  past.  As  he 
followed  his  cousin  in,  and  noted  how  every- 
thing spoke  of  wealth,  lavishly  applied  in  the 
most  modern  manner,  he  began  to  understand 
the  light  in  which  Bobby  was  regarded  at  Hill- 
crest. 

It  was  quite  evident,  however,  that  no  doubt 
of  himself  or  of  his  residence  entered  the  mind 
of  this  extremely  self-satisfied  young  gentle- 
man as  he  led  the  way  into  a  luxuriously 
furnished  room,  opening  on  one  side  from  the 
spacious  hall,  where  they  found  a  rather  dis- 
tinguished-looking woman  of  middle  age,  who 
greeted  Desmond  warmly. 

"Not  'Mrs.  Selwyn,'  but  Cousin  Elizabeth," 
she  corrected  him  in  his  greeting.  "We  are 
very  nearly  related,  you  know.  Your  mother 
and  I  were  first  cousins ;  and  Robert  here  is  as 
much  of  a  Wargrave  as  yourself,  though  I  am 
sorry  to  say  he  doesn't  look  it  as  you  do." 

"It's  a  standing  grievance  with  my  mother 
that  I  don't  resemble  her  family,"  Selwyn  told 
him.    "And  she's  shocked  when  I  say  that  I'd 


MES.  SELWYN"  IS  INTRODUCED  123 

rather  not  resemble  them  than  have  to  take 
some  of  their  qualities  with  their  looks." 

"Robert,  I  am  shocked!"  his  mother  de- 
clared. ' '  There  are  no  Wargrave  qualities  that 
you  might  not  be  proud  to  have. ' ' 

The  young  man  shook  his  head,  a  rather 
pugnacious  expression  on  his  face,  which,  with 
its  blunt  features,  its  aggressive  chin,  its  total 
lack  of  intellectual  character,  notwithstanding 
a  certain  keen  brightness  of  expression,  and 
general  resemblance  to  the  "business" — that  is 
commercial — type,  was  certainly  far  removed 
from  the  clear-cut  distinction  and  intellectual 
character  of  the  Wargrave  type. 

"Very  fine  qualities,  no  doubt,  from  the  ideal 
point  of  view,"  he  conceded;  "but  not  the  kind 
that  make  for  success  in  this  day  and  genera- 
tion. It's  all  right  as  long  as  they  have  Hill- 
crest  and  its  great  entailed  estate  at  tijeir  back; 
but  fancy  the  Judge,  with  all  his  old-fashioned 
ideas  of  'what  is  honorable  between  gentlemen, ' 
having  to  come  into  the  modern  world  and 
hustle  for  a  living ! ' ' 

"Robert,  you  know  how  I  detest  slang.  And 
I  can  not  endure  for  you  to  talk  in  this  way, 
and  imply  that  you — er — " 

"Have  to  hustle,  according  to  the  new  ideas 
and  methods,"  Robert  laughed.  "Well,  if  I 
hadn't,  all  I  can  say  is  that  you  wouldn't  be  as 
comfortable  as  you  are  at  present;  and  I've 
never  heard  you  object  to  the  comfort." 


124  MRS.  SELWYtf  IS  INTRODUCED 

Mrs.  Sehvyn  flushed  slightly,  not  so  much 
from  a  consciousness  of  her  own  inconsistency 
in  being  proud  of  her  son's  business  success 
and  enjoying  its  results  while  deprecating  the 
methods  by  which  it  had  been  achieved,  as 
because,  like  many  other  people,  she  was  not 
pleased  to  have  her  inconsistency  pointed  out. 
She  therefore  changed  the  conversation  by 
addressing  Desmond. 

"We  are  all  so  glad  that  you  have  been  able 
to  come  to  your  uncle,"  she  told  him.  "There 
seemed  a  little  doubt  whether  you  would  care 
to  do  so,  being  so  far  away. ' ' 

' '  I  promised  my  uncle  a  long  time  ago  that  I 
would  come  whenever  he  sent  a  really  urgent 
summons  for  me,"  the  young  man  answered; 
"and  therefore  I  had  no  alternative,  although 
it  was  inconvenient  for  me  to  leave  my  work 
at  this  time. ' ' 

"Oh,  your  work!"  Mrs.  Selwyn  lifted  her 
brows.  "That  would  seem  of  slight  importance 
compared  to  the  Wargrave  inheritance,  I 
should  think. ' ' 

"But,  you  see,  I  had  never  given  a  thought 
to  the  Wargrave  inheritance,"  he  replied.  "It 
was  a  great  surprise  to  me  to  find  how  matters 
stood,  and  that  my  uncle  proposed  to  make  me 
his  heir.  I  did  not  even  know  that  his  son  was 
dead." 

"Did  you  not?"  Something  of  the  shadow 
came  over  her  face  that  had  fallen  on  that  of 


MES.  SELWYN  IS  INTEODUCED  125 

Mrs.  Creighton  at  mention  of  Harry  Wargrave. 
"Yes,  it  has  been  several  years  since  we  heard 
of  his  death.  It  was  a  great  shock  to  the  whole 
family  connection;  for  he  was  a  person  whom 
we  all  loved,  and  we  had  hoped  that  some  day 
the  unexplained  breach  between  his  father  and 
himself  might  be  healed. ' ' 

"I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  hoped  it,'' 
her  son  remarked.  "The  Wargrave  qualities 
that  you  admire  so  much  were  all  enlisted  on 
the  other  side.  For  a  reconciliation,  somebody 
would  have  to  acknowledge  himself  in  the 
wrong,  and  no  Wargrave  could  ever  do  that. 
I  certainly  can't  imagine  the  Judge  doing  it." 

"Well,  now  do  you  know,  I'm  not  at  all  sure 
that  he  wouldn't,  if  he  were  once  convinced  that 
he  was  in  the  wrong?"  Desmond  said.  "Of 
course  the  difficulty  would  be  in  convincing  him ; 
but  his  sense  of  justice  is  so  strong  that  if  it 
were  made  plain  to  him  that  he  had  wronged 
any  one,  I  do  not  believe  that  he  would  hesitate 
at  any  reparation. ' ' 

"If  it  were  made  plain  to  him!"  Bobby 
repeated.  "As  you  observe,  that  is  where  the 
insurmountable  difficulty  would  come  in.  But 
we  needn't  discuss  the  point,  since — luckily  for 
you — Harry  Wargave  is  dead  and  buried. ' ' 

"Robert!" 

"There's  no  good  in  being  hypocritical, 
mater!  It  is  lucky  for  him.  And  I  shouldn't 
be  surprised,"  the  speaker  went  on  gloomily, 


126  MKS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED 

"if  there  was  even  more  luck  in  store  for  him." 

Desmond  stared  a  little. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said; 
"though  I  am  prepared  to  admit  that  finding 
so  many  new  and  charming  relatives  is  rare 
good  luck." 

"Listen  to  the  blarney  on  his  tongue!"  the 
other  chaffed.  "No,  my  boy,  I  wasn't  alluding 
to  the  mater  and  myself,  charming  as  we  un- 
doubtedly are;  but  to  a  family  effort,  which  I 
clearly  foresee,  to  make  a  match  between  you 
and  Edith  Creighton." 

"Really,  Robert — "  Mrs.  Selwyn  began. 

But  Bobby  waved  remonstrance  aside. 

"I  believe  in  being  open  and  above  board," 
he  stated.  "Any  one  could  see  it  with  half  an 
eye.  I  don't  doubt  that  Cousin  Rachel  and  the 
Judge  have  both  set  their  hearts  on  it.  They 
won't  say  anything  to  Edith,  for  they  know  her 
too  well.  But  they'll  bring  all  the  pressure  they 
can  to  bear  on  Desmond;  and  he'll  be  rather  a 
remarkable  kind  of  person  if  he  needs  any 
pressure. ' ' 

Desmond  laughed. 

i  i  This  is  anticipating  things  indeed, ' '  he  said. 
"We  aren't  living  in  an  old-fashioned  romance ; 
and,  although  Edith  is  very  fascinating,  I  can't 
imagine  myself  yielding  either  to  pressure  or  to 
her  fascinations. ' ' 

Bobby  eyed  him  sardonically. 

"That  shows  how  much  you  know  about  it," 


MES.  SELWYX  IS  INTKODUCED  127 

he  said.  "I'll  bet  you  anything  you  like  that 
you'll  be  her  abject  captive  before  a  week  is 
over — unless"  (hopefully)  "your  affections 
are  already  engaged." 

"No,"  Desmond  laughed  again.  "I  can 
report  myself  quite  heart  free." 

"Then  in  that  case  there's  simply  no  doubt 
of  it.  No  man  could  be  closelv  associated  with 
Edith  Creighton  and  not  fall  in  love  with  her, 
unless  he  were — " 

"More  sensible  than  you  are!"  Mrs.  Selwyn 
broke  in  impatiently.  ' '  You  really  provoke  me 
past  endurance  by  your  ridiculous  infatuation 
about  that  girl.  To  hear  you  talk  one  would 
think  that  she  was  absolutely  irresistible, 
instead  of  being  a  very  ordinary  and  badly 
spoiled  person,  in  my  opinion. ' ' 

"But,  you  see,  you  are  quite  alone  in  that 
opinion,"  her  son  informed  her.  "Everybody 
else  acknowledges  that  she  is  irresistible.  I 
frankly  confess  that  she  has  made  a  door-mat 
of  me  for  a  long  time,  and  that  the  chances  are 
that  she  will  keep  on  doing  so — at  least  until 
she  promises  to  marry  some  other  man.  If  you 
are  the  man"  (he  turned  again  to  Desmond), 
"I'll  try  and  support  it  philosophically;  but  I 
thought  I'd  just  let  you  know  how  matters 
stand. ' ' 

"You  mean,"  said  Desmond,  "that  you  are 
good  enough  to  warn  me  that  if  I  fall  a  victim, 


128  MRS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED 

as  you   anticipate,   I   shall  not  be  without  a 
rival. ' ' 

"Just  that,"  Bobby  agreed.  "I  think  it's 
always  well  to  make  things  clear,  you  know; 
although,  with  regard  to  this  matter,  my 
mother  considers  me  to  be  altogether  without 
proper  pride. " 

"I  certainly  do,"  his  mother  crisply  agreed. 
"I  confess  myself  unable  to  understand  how 
you  can  be  so  poor  spirited  as  to  continue  to 
dangle  after  a  girl  who  has,  by  your  own 
account,  again  and  again  refused  you." 

"  'It's  dogged  as  does  it'  !"  Mr.  Selwyn 
cheerfully  quoted.  "Some  day,  perhaps,  she 
will  grow  tired  of  refusing,  unless  the  War- 
grave  trust  interferes.  Meanwhile — 'talk  of 
angels ' — here  she  comes  now ! ' ' 

He  bolted  from  the  room  as  a  carriage  was 
heard  to  drive  up  to  the  door ;  and  Mrs.  Selwyn 
looked  at  Desmond  with  the  air  of  one  who 
apologizes  for  the  misbehavior  of  a  child. 

"I  hope  you  won't  take  Robert's  nonsense  in 
earnest,"  she  deprecated.  "He  really  isn't  so 
foolish  as  he  pretends  to  be.  Of  course  he 
admires  Edith  Creighton  very  much,  and  I  sup- 
pose he  has  asked  her  to  marry  him.  But  it's 
all  done  in  a  way  that  no  girl  in  my  time  would 
have  considered  serious  for  a  moment,  and  I 
can't  believe  that  it  is  serious." 

"If  his  own  account  of  the  affair  is  to  be 
relied  on,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  it  isn't  serious, 


MRS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED  129 

since  there  doesn't  seem  much  hope  of  his  suc- 
cess/ '  Desmond  said,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  sure  of  that  either!"  Mrs.  Sel- 
wyn  returned,  in  a  slightly  piqued  tone. 
"Perhaps  if  he  were  more  serious,  she  might 
answer  differently;  although  there's  no  doubt 
that  she  has  an  opinion  of  herself  that  hardly 
appears  to  me  to  be  justified.  Her  stepmother 
and  your  uncle  have  both  spoiled  her  dread- 
fully, and — well,  Edith,  how  are  you  to-day,  my 
dear?" 

"Quite  well,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Selwyn;"  Edith 
answered  blithely,  as  she  entered,  with  Bobby 
in  her  train. 

And  perhaps  it  was  from  the  conversation  he 
had  just  heard  that  Desmond's  eyes  seemed 
freshly  opened  to  her  striking  beauty,  or  per- 
haps the  drive  in  the  fresh  air  had  brought  the 
glowing  roses  to  her  cheeks,  the  diamond-like 
brightness  to  her  glance.  She  nodded  to  him 
gaily. 

' '  So  here  you  are ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  I  didn  't  know 
whether  I  should  find  you  or  not,  but  I  thought 
I  could  pay  a  little  visit  to  Mrs.  Selwyn  while 
waiting.  I  hope  you  transacted  all  your  busi- 
ness satisfactorily!" 

"I  transacted  it  both  satisfactorily  and 
speedily,  thanks  to  Bobby  and  his  car,"  Des- 
mond answered. 

"Odd  kind  of  business  it  was!"  Bobby  com- 
mented.   "First  he  wanted  to  go  to  a  church, 


130  MRS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED 

and  then  to  an  undertaker.  I  thought  I  should 
have  to  end  by  carrying  him  to  the  cemetery. ' ' 

Mrs.  Selwyn  looked  a  little  surprised. 

"I  never  know  when  Robert  is  in  earnest  and 
when  he  isn't,"  she  complained.  "But  did  you 
really  want  to  go  to  such — er — extraordinary 
places  ? ' ' 

"I  really  did,"  Desmond  assured  her;  "and 
there  wasn't  anything  very  extraordinary 
about  it.  Catholics  are  quite  in  the  habit  of 
going  to  their  churches,  you  know. ' ' 

"Catholics!"  The  surprise  deepened, — 
became,  in  fact,  somewhat  shocked.  "Oh, — ah 
— I  remember!    Your  father  was  a — " 

"Catholic?  Yes.  And  so  am  I.  But,  besides 
paying  a  visit  to  the  church,  I  wanted  to  see  the 
priest,  and  make  some  inquiries  about  one  of 
the  victims  of  the  wreck  yesterday." 

' '  Some  one  you  knew  1 ' ' 

"So  far  from  that,  some  one  I  never  saw 
before  the  accident.  But  I  chanced  to  be  with 
him  when  he  died.  I  was  able  to  get  the  priest 
for  him,  and  there  was  something  he  wanted 
done,  which  of  course  we  are  anxious — Father 
Martin  and  I — to  accomplish  if  possible.  That 
was  why  I  went  to  the  undertaker's,  where  the 
body  is  held,  to  learn  if  anything  had  been 
heard  from  his  friends  or  relatives. ' ' 

"It  was  certainly  very  good  of  you,"  Mrs. 
Selwyn  observed;  "for  everything  connected 


MES.  SELWYJST  IS  INTRODUCED  131 

with  undertakers  and  death  is  so  horrible  that 
one  shrinks  from  it  as  much  as  possible." 

"But,  you  see,  I  came  so  near  being  a  subject 
for  the  undertaker  myself,  that  I  can't  afford 
to  shrink,"  said  Desmond.  "The  least  I  can 
do  is  to  make  every  effort  to  fulfil  the  wishes  of 
one  who  was  less  fortunate  than  I  was." 

"You  were  certainly  very  fortunate  in  escap- 
ing from  so  terrible  an  accident  without  any 
injury  at  all,"  Mrs.  Selwyn  agreed.  "If  you 
had  been  killed,  it  would  have  been  a  dreadful 
thing  for — " 

Her  son's  explosion  of  laughter,  in  which  it 
was  impossible  for  Desmond  and  Edith  not  to 
join,  obliged  her  to  pause  with  a  rather 
offended  expression. 

"Excuse  me,  mater!"  Bobby  gasped.  "But 
Desmond  has  heard  nothing  else  since  his 
arrival  but  how  dreadful  it  would  have  been  for 
his  uncle  if  he  had  been  killed;  and  you'll  admit 
that  it  would  have  been  slightly  dreadful  for 
him  also." 

"I  could  hardly  have  meant  anything  else," 
Mrs.  Selwyn  was  beginning,  in  a  dignified  man- 
ner, when  the  sound  of  a  telephone  bell  ringing 
sharply  in  the  hall  cut  into  her  speech.  With- 
out waiting  for  the  servant  whose  duty  it  was  to 
answer  such  calls,  Bobby  rose  and  went  to  the 
instrument.  His  voice  being  anything  but 
dulcet  in  tone,  what  ensued  was  very  audible. 

"Hallo!    This  is  Selwyn!    Who  is  speaking? 


132        MRS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED 

Oh,  Simpson!  Yes.  Yes,  he's  here.  I'll  call 
him. ' '  Then,  in  a  louder  tone :  ' '  Desmond, 
you're  wanted.  Simpson,  the  undertaker,"  he 
went  on,  handing  the  receiver  over  as  Desmond 
came  up  to  where  he  stood,  "says  he  thought 
he  might  catch  you  here  before  you  left  town. 
He's  heard  something  about  that  dead  man 
you're  interested  in,  since  we  were  in  his 
shop. ' ' 

Yes,  Mr.  Simpson  told  Desmond  as  soon  as 
the  latter  signified  that  he  was  listening,  he  had 
just  heard  from  the  railway  officials  that  the 
body  of  Mr.  Tracy  was  to  be  forwarded  to  his 
sister,  Mrs.  Sarah  Barnes,  of  Baltimore,  Mary- 
land; and  was  there  anything  that  Mr.  Des- 
mond would  like  to  see  about,  in  connection  with 
the  matter,  before  the  order  was  carried  out? 
Desmond  replied  that  there  was  nothing  at  all, 
thanked  Mr.  Simpson,  took  down  Mrs.  Barnes' 
address,  and,  when  the  undertaker  had  rung 
off,  asked  Central  to  give  him  the  Catholic  rec- 
tory. A  moment  later  Father  Martin's  voice 
answered,  and  he  communicated  the  news  he 
had  received. 

"I  knew  you  would  be  interested  in  hearing 
at  once,  Father,"  he  said,  "since  it  may  be  the 
means  of  learning  something  about  the  man's 
past  life." 

"It  may,"  the  priest  replied,  "and  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you  for  telling  me,  though  I 
shall  no  doubt  hear  from  Mr.  Simpson  a  little 


MRS.  SELWYN  IS  INTRODUCED         133 

later.  I  will  write  to  his  sister,  who,  if  she  is 
a  Catholic,  will  undoubtedly  be  glad  to  learn 
that  her  brother  made  his  peace  with  God 
before  he  died." 

"And  will  you  kindly  let  me  know  if  there  is 
anything  in  her  reply  to  throw  light  on  his — 
dying  request!"  Desmond  asked. 

"Yes,"  the  quiet  tones  answered,  "I  will  let 
you  know  as  soon  as  I  hear  from  her;  but  I 
hardly  expect  any  light  on  the  point  you 
mention. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XI 

LAUKESTCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON 

When,  a  few  days  later,  Sunday  came  around 
in  the  weekly  procession  of  days,  Desmond 
drove  into  Kingsford  with  his  aunt  and  Edith, 
dropped  them  at  the  Episcopal  church — an 
edifice  of  severely  ecclesiastical  Gothic  archi- 
tecture, with  spire  as  lofty  as  the  doctrines 
preached  in  it, — and  then,  with  a  somewhat 
chastened  spirit,  took  his  own  way  to  the  rect- 
angular building,  without  grace  of  form,  either 
outward  or  inward,  which  enshrined  the  living 
Mysteries  of  the  ancient  Church  from  which 
both  architecture  and  doctrines  had  been 
derived.  Vainly  questioning  why  it  should  be 
so  hideous,  since  simplicity  does  not  of  neces- 
sity mean  ugliness,  he  went  in,  dropped  on  his 
knees  before  the  Tabernacle,  and  tried  to 
abstract  his  mind  from  the  details  of  ingenious 
bad  taste  around  him.  To  a  certain  degree  he 
had  succeeded,  when  a  touch  on  his  arm  made 
him  lift  his  head  from  his  hands  with  a  start. 
A  pretty,  curly-haired  boy,  in  cassock  and  lace- 
trimmed  cotta,  stood  beside  him. 

"You're  Mr.  Desmond!"  he  whispered;  and 

134 


LAUREXCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDOX    135 

then,  as  Desmond  nodded, ' '  Father  Martin  says 
will  yon  please  come  to  his  honse  after  Mass; 
he  wants  to  speak  to  you. ' ' 

Desmond  nodded  again,  the  boy  hurried  back 
to  the  sacristy,  and  a  few  minutes  later  Mass 
began. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  everything  around 
him  was  so  little  conducive  to  devotional  feeling 
that,  in  endeavoring  to  forget  these  things — in 
sending  his  mind  back  to  the  splendid  fanes  of 
the  Old  World,  where  he  had  seen  the  great 
Sacrifice  offered  with  all  imaginable  pomp  of 
worship,  or  to  simple  chapels,  full  of  the  spirit 
of  faith,  where  the  people  knelt  on  the  floor  in 
humble  devotion, — he  grasped  as  never  before 
the  idea  of  the  unity  of  this  stupendous  action. 
Not  many  Masses,  but  just  one  continuous 
Mass, — one  continuous  Sacrifice  offered  to 
Almighty  God,  under  conditions  as  diverse  as 
the  habits  of  men,  but  the  same  in  essence  as 
the  same  in  form.  That  figure,  wearing  strange, 
archaic  garments,  which  stood  at  the  altar,  was 
merely  a  unit  in  the  long  succession  of  figures 
ever  standing  before  an  altar,  ever  offering  the 
same  Victim  in  the  same  manner,  which 
stretched  back  to  the  upper  room  in  Jerusalem, 
or  higher  yet  to  Calvary,  where  alone  Priest 
and  Victim  were  one.  Vision  after  vision  rose 
before  him, — scenes  in  the  catacombs,  in  the 
marvellous  Ages  of  Faith,  in  the  world-wide 
Church  of  to-day;  and  as  in  imagination  his 


136    LAURENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON 

thoughts  swept  the  globe,  seeing  ever  the  same 
altar,  the  same  figure,  he  realized  not  only  the 
majestic  unity  of  that  which  was  taking  place 
before  his  eyes — the  mysterious  Miracle  of 
miracles, — but  he  was  able  to  feel  that  it  mat- 
tered little  whether  one  knelt  under  Michael 
Angelo's  great  dome,  before  the  supreme  altar 
of  Eome,  or  in  the  poorest  and  ugliest  of  the 
churches  which  materialized,  art-blind  America 
builds  for  the  King  of  kings. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  found  himself  at  last 
in  Father  Martin's  little  study,  struck  by  the 
aspect  of  this  unpretending  apartment,  and  by 
the  refined  face  of  the  priest,  Desmond  could 
not  forbear  a  question. 

"How  do  you  endure  it?"  he  asked,  with  a 
gesture  toward  the  church, — "all  the  ugliness, 
the  rampant  bad  taste  ? ' ' 

The  thin,  ascetic  lips  curved  into  a  smile. 

"At  first  it  was  rather  hard  to  endure,' '  the 
priest  confessed.  "But  I  have  grown  accus- 
tomed to  it  now,  and  hardly  see  the  things  that 
seem  to  you  so  dreadful.  Of  course  they  are 
dreadful;  but  where  there's  no  remedy,  you 
know,  even  dreadful  things  must  be  endured 
philosophically. ' ' 

"But  is  there  no  remedy?" 

The  smile  was  whimsical  now. 

"Do  you  see  any,  short  of  a  complete  con- 
flagration? The  church  is  new,  was  built  by 
my  predecessor  a  few  years  ago.    He  was  an 


LAURENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON    137 

excellent  man,  and  the  people  adored  him.  But 
you  can  judge  for  yourself  what  his  ideas  of 
ecclesiastical  art  were."  The  speaker  paused 
meditatively,  and  arranged  his  cassock  over  his 
knees.  ' ' Fortunately, ' '  he  observed,  "one  can 
go  to  heaven  without  aesthetic  cultivation.  In 
fact,  it  is  sometimes  a  misfortune  to  have  that 
cultivation,  I  am  inclined  to  think. ' ' 

"Oh,  no!"  Desmond  disagreed.  "What  is 
needed  in  this  country,  and  needed  desperately 
I  should  say,  are  priests  who  have  such  cultiva- 
tion, and  who  will  suffer  under  these  awful 
erections  until  they  are  swept  away.  There 
might  be  a  fire  here  some  day,"  he  added 
hopefully. 

"Don't  use  a  torch,  I  beg!"  Father  Martin 
laughed.  "  It  is  better  to  have  this  church  than 
none  at  all.  And  now  let  us  come  to  the  subject 
for  which  I  asked  to  see  you.  I  have  had  a 
letter  from  Mrs.  Barnes, — the  sister  of  Tracy, 
you  know. ' ' 

"Ah!"  Desmond  was  interested  at  once. 
"And  is  she  able  to  throw  any  light  on  his 
dying  request?" 

The  priest  shook  his  head. 

"No — or  else  she  does  not  wish  to  do  so. 
She  is  rather  noncommittal  on  the  point;  in 
fact,  ignores  it,  and  only  thanks  me  for  letting 
her  know  that  her  brother  remembered  his 
religion  before  he  died.  It  appears  that  he  had 
forgotten  it  for  a  long  time." 


138    LAURENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDOX 

"So  I  inf erred/ '  Desmond  remarked. 

"But,"  Father  Martin  went  on,  "this  is  not 
so  much  what  I  wished  to  tell  you  as  that  I  have 
had  another  visitor,  who  came  to  inquire  about 
the  man  and  about  his  dying  request — of  which, 
oddly  enough,  she  seemed  to  know." 

"She?" 

"Yes,  it  was  the  trained  nurse,  who  did  such 
admirable  work  at  the  time  of  the  accident. 
Her  name  is  Miss  Landon." 

Desmond  stared  for  a  moment,  and  then,  "I 
can  tell  you  how  she  knew,"  he  said.  "Before 
you  arrived,  the  man  was  talking  to  both  of  us 
— saying  that  he  wanted  a  priest,  not  only  to 
obtain  absolution  for  himself,  but  to  repair  a 
wrong  he  had  done  another  person.  And  she 
was  with  him,  you  know,  while  I  went  to  send 
the  message.  So  she  certainly  heard  as  much 
as  that;  but  it  is  rather  singular  she  should 
have  been  interested  enough  to  come  and  in- 
quire about  it. ' ' 

"Particularly  as  she  does  not  appear  to  be 
the  kind  of  person  to  be  afflicted  with  curiosity 
in  acute  degree." 

"Not  at  all  the  kind  of  person,  I  should  say. 
May  I  ask  what  reason  she  gave  for  the 
inquiry  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  remember  that  she  gave  any.  She 
simply  explained  that  she  had  learned  the 
man's  name  from  the  published  list  of  those 
who  were  fatally  injured  in  the  wreck,  and, 


LAUEENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON    139 

knowing  the  reason  why  he  wished  to  see  a 
priest — she  seemed  to  think  it  was  the  only 
reason, — came  to  ask  if  I  would  tell  her  what 
the  matter  was  which  had  been  on  his  con- 
science. ' ' 

"Naive!"  Desmond  commented,  as  they 
laughed  together.  "Of  course  she  meant  no 
harm;  one  has  to  allow  enormously  for  the 
ignorance  of  even  intelligent  people  outside  the 
Church.  But  the  question  is,  why  did  she  wish 
to  know?  It  looks  as  if  she  had  some  knowl- 
edge of  Tracy.  And  yet  the  man  was  clearly  a 
complete  stranger  to  her  that  day. ' ' 

"She  intimated  that  she  had  some  knowl- 
edge,— not  of  the  man  personally,  but  of  some- 
body bearing  the  name;  and  she  evidently 
wished  to  learn  if  the  victim  of  the  wreck  was 
the  Tracy  of  whom  she  knew. ' ' 

"And  you  were  not  able  to  help  her  in 
deciding  ? ' ' 

"Naturally  not  in  the  smallest  degree,  since 
all  that  I  know  of  the  man — and  that  I  can 
assure  you  is  extremely  little — was  learned 
under  the  seal  of  confession.  But  I  mentioned 
having  written  to  his  sister,  and  she  asked  me 
to  let  her  know  when  I  heard  from  the  latter. 
It  struck  me,  therefore,  when  I  received  this," 
(he  turned  and  took  up  a  letter  from  the  desk 
beside  him)  "that  if  you  still  feel  the  interest 
which  you  expressed  the  other  day  in  this  man, 
and  his  thwarted  reparation — " 


140    LAUKENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LA^DON 

"You  may  take  for  granted  that  I  feel  just 
the  same  interest, "  Desmond  said  a  little 
hastily.  "The  impression  of  which  I  spoke 
when  I  saw  you  before  was  too  strong  to  be 
forgotten,  even  if  it  stood  alone.  But  it  has 
been  renewed  more  than  once.  I  can  not  escape 
the  feeling — though  it  may,  of  course,  be  all 
imagination — that  some  outside  influence, 
something  apart  from  myself,  is  urging  me  to 
action  in  this  matter.' ' 

"Well,  then,"  Father  Martin  resumed,  "I 
was  going  to  say  that  if  you  were  still  inter- 
ested, you  might  like  to  take  this  letter  to  Miss 
Landon,  and  find  out,  perhaps,  what  she  knows 
of  Tracy, — of  some  Tracy,  at  least.  Her  knowl- 
edge might  prove  the  clue  needed  for  the 
fulfilment  of  his  last  request,  but  I  could  not 
ask  more  than  she  volunteered  to  tell.  It's 
possible,  however"  (he  smiled  as  he  looked  at 
the  attractive  personality  before  him),  "that 
she  might  volunteer  more  in  talking  to  you,  or 
perhaps  you  would  not  object  to  asking — " 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Desmond  assured  him 
cheerfully.  "I'll  ask  her  to  tell  me  all  that  she 
knows,  and  explain  why  it  is  that  I  want  the 
information.  I  don't  think  she'll  refuse  when 
I  make  her  understand  that  it  may  be  the  clue 
needed  to  fulfil  the  poor  devil's  dying  wish,  and 
repair  whatever  wrong  was  on  his  conscience. 
Is  this  Mrs.  Barnes'  letter?  Do  you  mean  me 
to  read  it?" 


LAURENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON    141 

"Of  course,"  Father  Martin  replied.  "I 
should  like  to  hear  how  it  strikes  you. ' ' 

"It  strikes  me,"  Desmond  said,  after  he  had 
read  the  letter,  "that  there  is  some  knowledge 
suppressed  on  her  part.  If  she  had  no  idea  of 
anything  in  her  brother's  life  calling  for 
reparation,  she  would  be  quick  to  say  so.  But 
she  doesn't  say  so,  you'll  observe;  and,  more- 
over, she  expresses  no  surprise  or  concern :  she 
simply  puts  the  matter  aside,  and  thanks  you 
for  letting  her  know  that  he  died  within  the 
Church.  Now  I  take  it  that  to  give  her  this 
consoling  information  was  not  your  chief  object 
in  writing  to  her. " 

"So  far  from  that,  I  told  her  distinctly  that 
I  was  anxious  to  obtain  some  knowledge  of  her 
brother's  life  for  the  reason  which  I  mentioned; 
and  I  asked  certain  questions  which  she  has  not 
answered. ' ' 

"And  clearly  does  not  intend  to  answer. 
Well,  I  will  take  this  letter  to  Miss  Landon  and 
find  out  what  she  knows.  When  can  I  report 
the  result  to  you?" 

"When  are  you  going  to  see  her?" 

i '  Immediately,  I  think. ' ' 

"Then  you  can  call  here  after  you  leave  the 
hospital,  or  any  time  this  afternoon  that  suits 
you.    Our  services  are  not  until  evening. ' ' 

When  Desmond  left  the  priest's  house  a  few 
minutes  later,  he  expected  to  find  the  Wargrave 
equipage  waiting  for  him ;  but  since  there  was 


142    LAURENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON 

no  sign  of  it,  he  walked  on  down  the  qniet 
street,  under  an  archway  of  golden  maple 
boughs,  toward  the  Episcopal  place  of  worship. 
The  congregation  were  just  issuing  from  the 
pointed  Gothic  doorway  as  he  approached,  and 
he  soon  perceived  his  aunt  and  Edith,  with  Sel- 
wyn  in  close  attendance  on  them. 

" Hallo!  Here's  our  Papist !"  was  Bobby's 
cheerful  salutation  at  sight  of  him.  "Your 
rites  appear  to  be  shorter  than  ours,"  he  re- 
marked, not  without  a  tinge  of  envy. 

"Considerably  shorter,' '  said  Desmond. 
"I've  been  talking  to  Father  Martin  for  at 
least  half  an  hour,  and  was  rather  afraid"  (he 
spoke  to  his  aunt)  "that  you  might  be  waiting 
for  me. ' ' 

"Oh,  no!"  she  replied;  "we  are  never  earlier 
than  this  in  coining  out.  I  am  always  able  to 
tell  Hiram  exactly  when  to  be  here  with  the 
carriage,  and  yonder  he  comes  now. ' ' 

"I'll  ask  you  to  excuse  me  from  going  with 
you,"  Desmond  said,  as  the  carriage  drew  up 
beside  them.  i '  I  have  something  to  do  in  town 
this  morning ;  but  I  will  return  to  Hillcrest  this 
afternoon. ' ' 

"When  shall  we  send  for  you?"  she  inquired. 

But  before  Desmond  could  answer,  Selwyn 
interposed. 

"Don't  send  at  all.  I'll  bring  him  out  in  my 
car.  I  know  the  Judge  doesn't  like  either 
horses  or  servants  to  be  called  upon  much  on 


LAUKENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON    143 

Sunday,  and  the  beauty  of  an  automobile  is  that 
it's  always  ready  for  use  without  disturbing 
anybody. ' ' 

Here  Desmond  remarked  that  he  had 
intended  to  walk;  and  that  nothing  would  give 
him  more  pleasure  than  to  do  so,  the  day  being 
so  fine. 

"Well,  that's  not  my  idea  of  pleasure,"  Sel- 
wyn  observed.  "Tramping  five  miles  over 
dusty  roads!  No,  no!  The  motor's  the  thing 
to  put  one  where  one  wants  to  go.  You  really 
ought  to  have  a  car  at  Hillcrest,  Cousin 
Rachel ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Creighton  shook  her  head,  as  she  was 
assisted  into  the  waiting  carriage,  and  sank 
back  on  its  luxurious  cushions. 

"Never  while  my  brother  lives,"  she  said. 
"He  adores  his  horses  as  much  as  he  detests 
what  he  calls  the  last  invention  of  the  devil. 
There's  no  denying  that  they  are  very  con- 
venient, however;  and  so  if  you'll  bring  Lau- 
rence out  this  afternoon — " 

"Oh,  yes,  I'll  certainly  bring  him  out!" 
Bobby  assured  her,  as  he  handed  Edith  to  her 
seat.  "Too  bad  you  won't  both  stay,  take 
dinner  with  us,  and  let  me  whirl  you  home  when 
you  are  ready  to  go,"  he  added  regretfully. 

"I'm  afraid  there  would  be  too  much  whirl 
about  it  for  mamma,"  Edith  laughed.  "Her 
admiration  of  automobiles  is  tempered  with  a 
good  deal  of  fear ;  and,  personally,  I  prefer  the 


144    LAURENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON 

pleasure  of  motion  behind  these  dear  horses  to 
a  frenzied,  breathless  rush  in  your  car.  We'll 
look  for  you  both. ' ' 

The  carriage  rolled  away  down  the  golden 
archway  of  the  street,  and  Bobby  heaved  a  sigh 
as  he  looked  after  it. 

"The  Judge  has  made  Edith  almost  as  rabid 
about  some  things  as  he  is  himself,' '  he  com- 
plained. ' '  The  idea  of  a  modern  girl  not  liking 
automobiles ! ' '  He  mused  darkly  for  a  moment 
on  such  unaccountable  perversity;  and  then, 
brightening  again,  "Look  here!"  he  said. 
"What  are  you  staying  in  town  for?  I  mean, 
have  you  anything  you  really  want  to  do,  or  is 
it  just  for  a  little  change  of  scene?  Hillcrest  is 
delightful,  but  I  can  imagine  life  there  becom- 
ing a  trifle  monotonous. ' ' 

Desmond  laughed. 

"I'm  not  seeking  change  of  scene  on  account 
of  the  monotony  of  Hillcrest,"  he  said.  "I 
really  have  something  to  do  in  town.  I  want 
to  pay  a  visit  at  the  hospital." 

Bobby  regarded  him  with  a  surprise  in  which 
incredulity  was  largely  mingled. 

"You  are  either  a  very  odd  chap,"  he 
remarked,  "or  all  this  is  a  joke, — the  kind  of 
places  you  want  to  visit.  Now,  whom  are  you 
going  to  see  at  the  hospital?" 

"I  am  going  to  see  one  of  the  nurses.    Her 
name,  if  you  wish  to  know,  is  Miss  Landon." 
I  didn't  wish  to  know,  but  I  remember  the 


i  i 


LAURENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON    145 

name.  She's  the  nurse  of  the  railway  wreck. 
The  newspapers  say  she  saved  a  lot  of  lives." 

1  i  I  think  it  likely  that  she  did  save  some ;  and 
there's  a  matter  connected  with  the  man  Tracy 
who  was  killed,  whose  body  you  remember  was 
at  the — er — " 

" Mortuary  parlor?    Yes,  I  remember. " 

"That  I  want  to  see  her  about.  By  the  by, 
I  suppose  I  had  better  make  an  appointment. 
Where's  the  nearest  telephone  station?" 

' '  Just  around  the  corner, ' '  said  Selwyn. 

A  little  later,  when  Desmond,  after  calling  up 
the  hospital  and  asking  for  Miss  Landon,  pres- 
ently heard  himself  answered,  he  was  startled 
by  an  effect  as  singular  as  it  was  unexpected. 
It  seemed  to  have  to  do  with  the  timbre  of  the 
voice  which  struck  on  his  ear;  but  he  was 
conscious  that  it  was  not  altogether  due  to  this, 
exquisite  as  it  was.  He  was  well  aware  that  the 
great  difference  in  voices  is  never  so  percep- 
tible as  when  they  are  heard,  disembodied  as  it 
were,  over  the  telephone.  But  he  had  never 
before  heard  a  voice  which  seemed  to  convey 
so  much  of  personality  as  that  which  spoke  to 
him  now.  It  was  not  only  that  it  was  beauti- 
fully distinct  and  clear,  with  a  crystalline 
quality  which  suggested  the  water  of  a  moun- 
tain spring,  but  there  were,  he  felt  assured, 
forces  of  character  behind  it — forces  both  of 
reserve  and  strength, — which  were  as  unusual 
as   they  were    striking.    And  yet   the   words 


146    LAUKENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDOK 

which  this  voice  uttered  could  not  have  been 
more  simple,  so  that  the  effect  which  startled 
him  did  not  proceed  from  them. 

"This  is  Miss  Landon,"  it  said.  "Who  is 
asking  to  speak  with  me ! ' ' 

"Laurence  Desmond,"  the  owner  of  that 
name  replied.  "I  don't  know  whether  you 
remember  me,  Miss  Landon,  but  I  was  with  you 
in  the  railway  wreck.' ' 

"Oh,  it  is  you!11  the  crystal  voice  returned. 
"I  did  not  know  your  name,  but  I  certainly 
remember  yourself.  What  can  I  do  for  you, 
Mr.  Desmond?" 

"You  can  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  a  little 
of  your  time,"  Desmond  answered.  "I  want, 
with  your  permission,  to  call  to  see  you ;  and  I 
shall  be  glad  if  you  will  let  me  know  at  what 
hour  you  will  be  at  liberty  to  receive  a  visitor. ' ' 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  a  shade  of 
more  crystalline  coolness  seemed  to  come  into 
the  voice  when  it  answered : 

' '  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall  hardly  be  at  liberty 
to  receive  a  visitor  at  all.  I  have  very  little 
time  for  social — " 

' '  Pardon  me ! ' '  Desmond  broke  in  hurriedly. 
"But  I  should  have  mentioned  at  first  that  my 
visit  has  more  than  a  social  purpose.  One 
might  call  it  business.  I  have  been  asked  by 
Father  Martin — the  Catholic  priest,  you  know, 
— to  convey  a  letter  to  you, — a  letter  from  the 


LAURENCE  CALLS  UP  MISS  LANDON  147 

sister  of  Tracy,  the  man  who  was  killed  in  the 
wreck. ' ' 

"0 — h!"    The  pause  was  longer  now,  as  if 
to  consider  this  information ;  and  then  the  cool, 
clear  tones  said :   *  *  In  that  case  it  will  give  me 
pleasure  to  receive  you.    I  am  at  liberty  from 
four  to  five  o'clock  this  afternoon.    If  you  call 
at  any  time  during  that  hour  you  can  see  me. ' ' 
' '  I  will  call  at  four  o  'clock,  if  that  suits  you. ' ' 
"It  suits  me  perfectly. " 
' '  Thanks,  very  much !    Good-bye ! ' ' 
As  he  hung  up  the  receiver,  Desmond  added 
to  himself : 

"By  Jove,  that  was  a  close  call!  Only  the 
mention  of  the  Tracy  letter  kept  her  from 
declining  to  see  me.  I  ought  to  have  remem- 
bered that  it  would  seem  a  piece  of  cheek  for  me 
to  propose  to  pay  her  a  visit  without  any 
explanation  of  a  reason  for  doing  so.  But  with 
what  a  princess-like  tone  the  permission  was 
given!  There's  something  extraordinarily 
striking  and  uncommon  in  the  character  behind 
that  voice.  And  what  a  voice  it  is !  Either  I'm 
developing  wonderful  psychical  qualities,  or 
else  it  indicates — yes,  Bobby,  I've  just  finished; 
made  an  appointment  with  Miss  Landon  for 
this  afternoon,  and  I  am  now  at  your  service. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XII 

LAUEENCE  EENEWS  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH 

MISS  LANDON 

On  the  stroke  of  the  hour  of  which  he  had 
spoken,  Desmond  rang  the  door  bell  of  the  hos- 
pital and  asked  for  Miss  Landon.  He  was 
shown  into  a  small  reception  room,  which 
luckily  chanced  to  be  empty;  and  here  after  a 
few  minutes  the  nurse  came  to  him. 

That  she  was  a  nurse  there  was  no  mistaking 
now,  as  she  entered,  in  her  spotless  white 
uniform,  the  crisp  muslin  cap  resting  on  the 
soft  masses  of  her  brown  hair.  The  dress  was 
extremely  becoming  to  her,  accentuating  the 
fairness  and  purity  of  her  skin,  which  was  of 
an  ivory-like  fineness  of  texture,  with  very  little 
color,  but  that  little  of  a  wild-rose  delicacy  of 
tint,  and  the  translucent  clearness  of  her  gray 
eyes.  It  occurred  to  Desmond,  as  he  looked  at 
her,  that  it  would  be  rather  an  exquisite  thing 
to  have  such  a  presence  as  this,  so  eloquent  of 
all  things  refreshing  and  healing,  about  one's 
sick  bed;  and  he  felt  almost  inclined  to  envy 
the  patient  thus  favored.  In  manner  she  was 
as  quiet  and  self-possessed  as  when  he  had  seen 

148 


i  i 

i  i 


LAUBEXCE  MEETS  MISS  LAXDON      149 

her  last  among  the  dying  and  dead  of  the  rail- 
way wreck.  But  when  she  held  out  her  hand  in 
greeting,  she  smiled  quite  charmingly. 

How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Desmond?''  she  said. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  again. ' ' 

I  'm  very  glad  to  hear  it, ' '  Desmond  replied ; 
for  I  was  afraid,  when  I  first  spoke  to  you 
over  the  telephone,  that  you  were  not  going  to 
allow  me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  all. ' ' 

If  he  said  this  in  order  to  discover  if  she 
would  exhibit  any  confusion  over  her  refusal, 
he  was  speedily  assured  to  the  contrary.  The 
gray  eyes  met  his  with  perfect  calmness. 

"I  hardly  think  that  requires  an  explana- 
tion, ' '  she  told  Mm. 

"No,"  he  said,  "it  requires  no  explanation 
from  you:  but  it  would  require  an  apology 
from  me  if  I  had  ever  thought  of  offering  to 
call  simply  because  I  felt  that  I  should  like  to 
meet  you  again.  But  I  hope  you  understand 
that  I  did  not  think  of  such  a  thing;  although 
I  was  certainly  glad  when  Father  Martin 
offered  me  the  chance  to — renew  our  acquaint- 
ance, may  I  say?" 

"I  suppose  one  might  call  it  an  acquaint- 
ance, ' '  she  replied ;  ' '  although  it  was  rather  an 
unusual  kind  of  one.  And  it  was  good  of  you  to 
care  about  meeting  me  again.  I  should  have 
thought  that  you  would  want  to  put  everything 
connected  with  that  awful  wreck  out  of  your 
mind. ' ' 


150  LAURENCE  RENEWS  ACQUAINTANCE 

"Not  you!"  he  answered  quickly.  "I  could 
never  want  to  put  out  of  my  mind  anything  so 
wonderful  as  you  were.  One  would  have  to  be 
even  a  duller  person  than  I  am  not  to  recognize 
heroism  when  one  sees  it;  and,  having  recog- 
nized it,  who  could  wish  to  forget  it  ? ' ' 

The  wild-rose  color  deepened  a  little  on  her 
cheeks,  but  the  gray  eyes  continued  to  meet  his 
with  quiet  steadiness. 

"You  really  must  not  talk  in  that  way, 
although  I  know  you  mean  it  kindly, ' '  she  said. 
"It  is  absurd  to  speak  of  heroism  in  connection 
with  the  simple  things  I  was  able  to  do." 

' '  Simple ! ' '  he  repeated.  * '  Oh,  well !  I  sup- 
pose simplicity  is  a  note  of  heroism.  At  all 
events,  if  it  wTas  simple  to  do  what  you  did — to 
handle  those  crushed,  mangled  creatures,  to 
bind  their  awful  wounds,  to  hold  that  poor 
woman's  hand  while  she  died  in  agony, — then 
I  can  only  say  that  simple  things  are  the  hard- 
est, as  well  as  the  best  worth  doing,  among  the 
things  of  this  world. ' ' 

"Perhaps  they  are,  in  a  certain  sense,  the 
best  worth  doing,"  she  said.  "At  least  there  is 
a  great  deal  of  tangible  satisfaction  in  relieving 
the  sufferings  of  the  body.  The  wounds  of  the 
spirit  go  much  deeper,  of  course ;  but  one  could 
never  be  sure  of  relieving  them."  She  paused 
for  an  instant.  "And  yet,  do  you  know,"  she 
added,  "it  has  occurred  to  me,  since  the 
accident  of  which  we  are  talking,  that  if  one 


WITH  MISS  LANDON  151 

could  be  sure — as  sure  as  one  is  in  the  case  of 
bodily  ailments — of  there  being  a  way  to  relieve 
them,  what  a  wonderful  thing  it  would  be ! ' ' 

Desmond  glanced  at  her  curiously. 

"What  has  made  you  think  of  that?"  he 
asked. 

' '  Why,  the  death  of  that  man  Tracy,  of  whom 
you  have  come  to  speak,"  she  answered.  "I 
can  not  forget  how  his  physical  sufferings, 
which  must  have  been  very  great,  were  com- 
pletely subordinated  in  his  mind  to  the  suffer- 
ing of — I  suppose  one  should  say,  his  soul. 
And  he  seemed  so  certain, — so  absolutely  cer- 
tain of  the  power  of  the  priest  to  relieve  that 
suffering ! ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  he  was  certain!"  Desmond  said. 
"He  was  a  Catholic,  you  see." 

"And  are  all  Catholics  as  certain  as  that?" 

* '  All  who  have  faith  are. ' ' 

She  seemed  to  reflect  upon  this  for  a  moment. 

"It  is  strange,"  she  said  then.  "I  suppose 
I  have  known  all  my  life  that  Catholics  did 
believe  such  things.  Yet  I  never  realized  in  the 
least  what  it  meant  until  I  saw  that  man.  I 
could  not  forget  it:  his  absorption  in  the 
thought  of  his  soul  in  the  face  of  sudden,  ter- 
rible death.  It  wasn't  as  if  he  had  been  a 
spiritual  kind  of  person.  One  could  see  how 
very  far  from  that  he  was." 

"Very  far,"  Desmond  agreed.  "One  saw  at 
a  glance  that  he  belonged  to  an  extremely  com- 


152  LAURENCE    RENEWS    ACQUAINTANCE 

mon  class  of  worldly,  careless  men,  who,  when 
they  are  in  health,  forget  that  they  have  souls 
at  all." 

"And  he  was  more  than  merely  worldly  and 
careless,"  she  went  on.  "We  know  from  him- 
self that  he  had  something  on  his  conscience; 
and  if  he  was  the  man  I  think  him  to  have  been, 
it  was  a  heavy  wrong  indeed. ' ' 

"Will  you  tell  me,"  Desmond  asked,  "what 
you  know  of  the  man,  and  why  you  should 
imagine  that  you  are  aware  of  what  was  on 
his  conscience?  Your  knowledge  might  be  a 
great  help  in  enabling  Father  Martin  to  fulfil 
his  last  request,  and  make  reparation  for  the 
wrong  of  which  he  spoke. ' ' 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  I  went  to  Father 
Martin  when  I  saw  the  name  of  Tracy  in  the 
published  list  of  victims  of  the  accident  ?"  she 
said.    ' '  But  he  would  give  me  no  information. ' ' 

"He  couldn't,  you  know,"  Desmond  told  her. 

"Couldn't  he?"  She  looked  a  little  puzzled. 
"But  what  was  the  good,  then,  of  the  man's 
asking  him  to  repair  the  wrong,  if  he  can  not 
speak  of  it?" 

"You  don't  understand,"  Desmond  said. 
"He  could  speak  to  the  person  or  persons 
directly  affected  by  the  confession,  but  not  to 
any  others.  He  has  no  warrant  to  make  the 
matter  public,  even  if  he  knew  who  those  per- 
sons are.    But  he  doesn't  know." 

"No?" 


WITH  MISS  LANDON  153 

He  was  startled  by  the  energy  of  her  tone,  by 
the  intense  disappointment  which  seemed  to  lie 
behind,  and  be  expressed  by  it.  Plainly  some- 
thing in  this  matter  touched  her  very  nearly, 
and  Desmond  felt  his  desire  to  learn  what  it 
was  sensibly  increasing. 

"No,"  he  echoed,  "he  doesn't  know.  And  he 
is  extremely  anxious  to  learn  anything  that 
would  throw  light  on  that  confession.  You  see, 
it  was  this  way."  He  described  in  a  few  words 
what  he  had  overheard,  and  in  that  manner 
learned  of  the  pathetic  failure  of  the  dying  man 
to  mention  an  essential  name.  "If  that  name 
could  be  supplied,"  he  continued,  "it  might 
make  the  reparation  possible.  Of  course  we 
can't  tell.  It  all  rests  with  Father  Martin,  and 
he  can  say  nothing  to  us.    But  it  is  possible — " 

' i  It  seems  to  me  absurd ! ' '  she  burst  out.  ' '  It 
is  like  a  puzzle  without  a  clue.  He  can  not 
speak  unless  he  knows  something,  which  he  can 
not  learn  unless  he  speaks.  Don't  you  see  how 
absurd  it  is?" 

"I  see  that  it  might  appear  so  to  you,"  said 
Desmond.  "But  it  isn't  really  so.  It  is  a 
necessity  arising  from  the  inviolability  of  con- 
fession. Father  Martin  must  be  absolutely 
sure  of  what  he  is  doing  before  he  can  reveal 
a  word  of  what  that  poor  dying  creature  told 
him. ' ' 

"But  how  is  he  to  be  made  sure?" 

"Ah,  that  I  can't  tell!    I  wish  I  could.    He 


154LAUEEXCE    EENEWS    ACQUAINT ANCE 

* 

hoped  to  learn  something  from  the  man's  sister, 
but  that  hope  has  been  disappointed.  Here  is 
the  letter  he  has  just  received/' — he  drew  it 
from  his  pocket  as  he  spoke.  "He  asked  me  to 
bring  it  to  you,  because  he  promised  to  let  you 
know  when  he  heard  from  her. ' ' 

She  took  the  letter  from  his  hand ;  and  as  she 
opened  and  read  it,  he  allowed  his  gaze  to  dwell 
on  her  with  a  consciousness  of  pleasure  in  the 
singularly  harmonious  details  of  her  personal 
appearance.  It  was  not  beauty,  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  term,  which  charmed  the  eye;  but 
something  more  delicate  and  elusive, — some- 
thing like  the  crystalline  tone  of  her  voice, — a 
quality  which,  as  far  as  words  can  express  it, 
was  as  if  the  finely  finished  physique  were  a 
rare  instrument,  perfectly  fitted  to  express  that 
nobler  part  of  our  complex  human  being  which 
dwells  in  mind  and  soul.  When  she  presently 
lifted  the  dark-lashed  lids  of  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  him  again,  he  was  sure  that  he  had 
never  met  a  gaze  which  expressed  feeling  and 
thought  so  lucidly. 

"There  is  nothing  here  of  what  we  want  to 
know,"  she  said.  "Yet  it  appears  to  me  that, 
although  the  writer  meant  to  tell  nothing,  she 
has  in  some  subtle  fashion  betrayed  that  she  is 
withholding  knowledge  that  might  be  useful  if 
it  were  communicated. ' ' 

"I  thought  you  would  perceive  it,"  Desmond 
said.    "The  letter,  with  its  studied  evasion  of 


WITH  MISS  LANDON  155 

the  questions  which  Father  Martin  asked,  does 
give  just  that  impression.  He  felt  it,  /  felt  it, 
and  now  you  feel  it.  But  I  don't  see  what  we 
are  to  do.  The  woman  can't  be  forced  to 
speak." 

"Perhaps  she  can  be,"  the  girl  said  slowly. 
"At  least  I  shall  try." 

"You?" 

"Yes.  Don't  you  understand  that  1  am 
deeply  interested  in  this?  You  can't  suppose 
that  I  would  have  taken  such  a  step  as  to  go  to 
the  priest  and  ask  him  what  I  did,  if  I  had  not 
had  a  grave  reason  for  doing  so?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  felt  quite  sure  that  you 
must  have  had  such  a  reason,"  Desmond 
replied;  "and  I  may  as  well  confess  that  both 
Father  Martin  and  I  have  hoped  that  you 
would  tell  us — or  at  least  tell  him — what  that 


reason  is.' 


>> 


"But  what  should  I  gain  by  telling  him? 
she  asked.  "It  is  something  of  which  I  do  not 
wish  to  speak  unless  there  were  an  object  to  be 
gained  by  doing  so :  unless  I  were  sure  that  the 
man  who  lost  his  life  in  the  wreck  was  the  man 
connected  with  the  matter  of  which  I  know.  I 
hoped  to  learn  at  least  as  much  as  this  from  the 
priest,  but  he  would  tell  me  nothing. ' ' 

"He  couldn't,"  Desmond  repeated.  "I  wish 
you  would  believe  that,  because  then  you  might 
see  that  you  who  can  speak  should  do  so.  And 
if  you  supplied  the  missing  link  in  the  confes- 


156  LAURENCE    RENEWS    ACQUAINTANCE 

sion,  Father  Martin  might  see  his  way  to  fulfil 
the  man's  request  that  reparation  for  the 
wrong  he  had  committed  should  be  made.  Con- 
sider," the  young  man  went  on,  leaning  for- 
ward in  his  earnestness,  "that  this  poor 
creature  can  not  help  himself  now,  that  he  did 
what  he  could  before  he  died,  and  that  it  is  for 
us  to  do  what  we  can  to  assist  him  in  his  present 
helplessness  and  suffering." 

He  stopped  rather  abruptly;  for  he  saw 
gathering  amazement  in  the  eyes  gazing  so 
steadily  at  him. 

"You  talk,"  the  girl  said,  "as  if  you  knew 
something  about  him.    What  do  you  know?" 

"Of  the  man  personally,  nothing,"  he 
answered.  '  i  I  never  saw  or  heard  of  him  until 
he  lay  before  us  dying. ' ' 

"And  yet  you  speak  as  if  you  were  vitally 
interested  in  fulfilling  his  last  request.  What 
difference  can  it  make  to  you  whether  it  is  ful- 
filled or  not!" 

He  did  not  answer  immediatelv;  for  he  had 

«/        7 

not  the  least  intention  of  telling  her  what  he 
had  told  Father  Martin, — of  the  strong  impres- 
sion he  had  received  that  help  was  asked  of  him 
by  or  for  the  soul  that,  as  he  said,  could  no 
longer  help  itself.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  con- 
sidered either  a  visionary  or  a  spiritualist,  and 
he  knew  well  that  outside  the  Church  there  is 
little  or  no  real  belief  in  the  continued  existence 


WITH  MISS  LANDON  157 

of  the  individual  spirit  after  death.  He  hesi- 
tated a  little,  therefore,  before  he  said : 

"Surely  you  recognize  a  duty  of  charity, — a 
double  duty,  one  may  say,  since  it  includes  aid 
for  the  dead  and  reparation  to  the  living. ' ' 

If  Miss  Landon  did  not  echo  Edith  Creigh- 
ton's  words,  and  exclaim,  "What  an  extraordi- 
nary young  man  you  are ! ' '  her  look  said  it  very 
plainly. 

"You  seem  to  be  talking  in  a  language 
different  from  any  with  which  I  am  familiar," 
she  said.  ' '  It  has  never  occurred  to  me  to  think 
of  aiding  the  dead. ' ' 

* '  Ah,  that  is  where  the  Catholic  is  different ! ' ' 
he  answered.  ' '  The  dead  are  to  us  as  living  as 
they  ever  were,  and  to  help  them  in  any  way  is 
an  imperative  duty. ' ' 

"Just  as  you  said  it  was  an  imperative  duty 
to  drop  everything  else  and  make  a  tremendous 
effort  to  get  a  priest  for  that  man  before  he 
died?" 

"Yes,  just  so.  It  all  comes,  you  see,  from 
the  Catholic  conception  of  the  value  of  the 
soul." 

"I  see."  As  she  gazed  at  him  it  was  evident, 
from  the  wonder  in  her  eyes,  that  new  and 
strange  ideas  were  unfolding  before  her.  "I 
confess  that  I  have  never  given  a  thought  to 
Tracy  's  soul, ' '  she  said.  * l  And,  if  it  is  existing, 
you  think  that  it  is  suffering  still?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


158  LAUKENCE    EEISTEWS    ACQUAINTANCE 

"I'm  afraid  there  isn't  much  doubt  of  it,' 
he  replied.  "We  have  to  expiate,  you  know — 
or,  rather,  of  course  you  don 't  know.  And, ' '  he 
added  quickly, ' '  I  feel  as  if  I  should  not  be  talk- 
ing of  these  things ;  because  it  looks  as  if  I  were 
religious  or  devout,  and  I'm  really  nothing  of 
the  kind. ' ' 

She  laughed  a  little,  and  he  noted  that  the 
sound  was  as  musical  as  her  speech. 

"Oh,  I  think  you  must  be!"  she  said.  "At 
least  you  must  be  aware  that  it  is  very  unusual 
for  a  young  man  to  know  as  much  about  relig- 
ious matters  as  you  do." 

"It  isn't  the  least  unusual  among  Catholics," 
he  assured  her.  "In  fact,  it  would  be  a  very 
ignorant  schoolboy,  who  has  studied  his  cate- 
chism, who  did  not  know  as  much  as,  or  more 
than,  I  do.  But  all  this  is  beside  the  point, 
which  is,  will  you  tell  Father  Martin  what  you 
know  of  Tracy, — that  is,  of  some  Tracy?" 

She  considered  for  a  minute  before  answer- 
ing, while  he  watched  her  closely.  Then  she 
shook  her  head. 

"I  think  not,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  would 
not  wish  to  speak  of  what  I  know  unless  I  were 
sure  that  this  was  the  man  connected  with  it. 
But  will  you  tell  me  one  thing :  if  the  missing 
link  in  his  story,  the  name  he  did  not  mention, 
were  supplied,  would  Father  Martin  feel  him- 
self at  liberty  to  speak,  and  tell  what  he 
knows  ? ' ' 


WITH  MISS  LANDOX  159 

"Yes,"  Desmond  answered.  "I  am  sure  that 
lie  would  be  glad  to  speak  to  those  who  are  con- 
cerned in  learning  the  truth,  whatever  it  may 
be.  Indeed,  I  can  assure  you  that  he  is  ex- 
tremely anxious  to  have  the  opportunity.  He 
has  a  duty  to  perform.  That  is  why  I  am 
appealing  to  you." 

"In  that  case  I  see  clearly  what  I  must  do," 
she  said.  '  *  I  must  learn  beyond  doubt  whether 
this  man  was  the  Tracy  of  whom  I  know." 

' i  How  will  you  learn  this  ? ' ' 

"By  going  directly  to  his  sister,  and  asking 
her  one  or  two  questions  which  she  can  not 
refuse  to  answer,  and  which  will  establish  his 
identity.  May  I  keep  this  letter  for  the 
address?  Thank  you!  And  thank  Father 
Martin,  please,  for  sending  it  to  me.  Kindly 
tell  him  also  that  if  I  discover  anything  which 
I  think  would  help  him  in  his  difficulty,  even  if 
it  does  not  help  me  in  mine,  I  will  let  him 
know. ' ' 

"And  when,"  Desmond  asked,  a  little 
startled  by  the  rapidity  of  her  decision,  "will 
you  be  able  to  see  the  woman  ? ' ' 

' '  Not  for  some  time  yet, ' '  she  replied,  regret- 
fully. ' '  I  have  a  patient  whom  I  can  not  leave 
for  a  week  or  two.    But  then  I  will  go." 

"And  will  you  certainly  return?" 

There  was  more  anxiety  in  his  tone  than  he 
was  aware  of ;  for  he  was  surprised  to  feel  how 
much  he  should  regret  it  if  this  girl,  who  had 


160  LAURENCE    RENEWS    ACQUAINTANCE 

so  strangely  entered  his  life,  now  passed  com- 
pletely out  of  it.  She  looked  at  him  with  some- 
thing of  the  same  surprise  with  which  she  had 
asked  why  he  was  interested  in  Tracy.  It  was 
evident  that  the  question  in  her  mind  was, 
"What  is  that  to  you?"  But  she  did  not  utter 
it.    Instead,  she  said : 

"I  think  that  I  shall  certainly  return.  The 
reason  for  which  I  was  coming  here  when  the 
accident  occurred  remains  in  force;  but  on 
account  of  the  accident,  and  the  demands  it  has 
made  upon  me,  I  have  not  been  able  to  do  any 
of  the  things  for  which  I  came.  I  shall  come 
back  on  account  of  those  things,  even  if  I  find 
that  the  man  who  was  killed  was  not  the  Tracy 
of  whom  I  know. ' ' 

"And  if  you  find  that  he  was  that  Tracy ?" 

"Then  I  will  not  be  able  to  return  quickly 
enough  to  satisfy  my  impatience  to  tell  Father 
Martin  what  I  know,  and  learn  if  it  fits  into 
what  he  knows. ' ' 

"I  hope  that  it  will,"  Desmond  said  fer- 
vently. "And  I  believe  that  it  will.  I  can  not 
tell  you  why,  but  I  do  believe  it. ' ' 

"I  wonder  why  you  should!"  Miss  Landon 
remarked. 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  because  we  seem  so 
strangely  connected  together,  that  dead  man, 
you  and  I,"  he  said.  "There  we  were,  perfect 
strangers  to  each  other;  yet  I  got  a  priest  for 
him,  and  you  kept  him  alive  until  the  priest 


WITH  MISS  LANDON  161 

came.  Don't  you  see  how  fitting  it  would  be  if 
he,  on  his  part,  had  something  to  tell  which  con- 
cerned one  or  both  of  us  ? " 

" Fitting?  Oh,  yes,  if  it  were  a  story  we  were 
putting  together!"  she  replied.  "But  even  in 
that  event  I  think  we  should  be  told  that  we 
were  working  'the  long  arm  of  coincidence '  too 
far  in  imagining  anything  of  the  kind. ' ' 

"I  know,"  Desmond  returned,  contemptu- 
ously. l  i  There 's  a  lot  of  what  the  English  call 
rot  talked  about  the  improbability  of  the  long 
arm  of  coincidence  acting  in  certain  cases.  I 
have  not  reached  a  patriarchal  age  by  any 
means,  but  I  have  seen  some  astonishing  things 
in  my  own  experience  of  what  we  call  coinci- 
dence, but  for  which  I  can't  help  thinking  that 
a  wider  and  higher  vision  may  have  another 
name. ' ' 

' '  In  other  words,  you  really  think  that — er — 
Providence  orders  these  strange  happenings?" 

"I  can't  see  much  use  in  a  Providence  that 
doesn  't  order  things, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  And  as  for 
talking  about  a  difference  between  important 
affairs  and  trifles,  why,  we  can't  possibly  tell 
until  the  end  of  everything  what  is  important 
and  what  is  trifling.  It's  like  this,  that  things 
are  so  linked  together  in  ways  unknown  to  us 
that  one 

.   .   .  can  not  stir  a  flower 
Without  troubling  a  star. " 

"You  have  certainly  given  me  a  good  many 


162  LAURENCE  RENEWS  ACQUAINTANCE 

new  ideas/ '  Miss  Landon  said,  as,  with  a  glance 
at  the  clock,  she  rose  from  her  seat.  "It 
seems  ungrateful  that  in  return  I  should  have 
to  send  you  away.  But  I  must  now  go  back  to 
my  patient.  You  will  be  sure  to  tell  Father 
Martin  how  much  I  am  obliged  to  him  for  send- 
ing me  this  letter ;  and  please  believe  also  that 
I  am  deeply  obliged  to  you  for  bringing  it. ' ' 

"There  isn't  the  shadow  of  an  obligation  on 
the  last  score,' '  Desmond  assured  her.  "As  I 
told  you,  I  was  only  too  glad  of  an  excuse  to 
come,  and — you  won't  think  me  presumptuous, 
I  hope — mayn't  I  come  again?" 

She  shook  her  head,  though  the  sweetness  of 
her  smile  softened  the  refusal. 

"I  think  not,"  she  said.  "You  are  really 
very  interesting,  and  it  is  kind  of  you  to  want 
to  come.  But  a  hospital  is  not  the  place  for 
social  visits.  It  would  excite  remark,  and — er 
— in  short,  you  must  excuse  me. ' ' 

"But  a  hospital  nurse  isn't  a  cloistered 
nun,"  he  remonstrated.  "And  I — do  forgive 
me  my  persistence ! — I  can  not  be  satisfied  to 
say  good-bye  without  some  hope  of  seeing  you 
again. ' ' 

"You  forget  your  belief  in  the  Providence 
that  overrules  coincidence,"  she  reminded  him, 
as  she  held  out  her  hand.  "If  we  are  destined 
to  meet  again,  we  shall  meet.  Isn't  that  what 
you  believe?    I  don't  mind  saying  that  I  hope 


WITH  MISS  LANDON  163 

we  shall.  But  we  must — leave  it  to  Provi- 
dence.' ' 

"I'd  really  rather  not,"  he  objected  hastily. 
"I  mean,  I  would  rather  we  arrange  it 
ourselves.' ' 

"Under  the  circumstances,  that  is  impos- 
sible," she  said,  a  little  more  coolly  and  quite 
firmly.  "Thank  you  again  for  coming,  and 
good-bye! 


>> 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JUDGE  WARGRAVE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

It  was  three  weeks  later  that  Desmond  sat 
one  morning  before  the  bright  library  fire — for, 
as  the  season  advanced,  the  mornings  grew 
frosty, — glancing  over  a  newspaper  which  had 
arrived  in  the  mail  that  reached  Hillcrest 
before  breakfast.  During  these  three  weeks  he 
had  found  it  very  pleasant  to  drop  into  the 
position  of  the  son  of  the  house,  to  enjoy  the 
easy  social  life  and  customs  of  the  country,  to 
go  shooting  with  Bobby  Selwyn  (only  the  day 
before  they  had  been  out  all  day  on  one  of  the 
remote  parts  of  the  plantation),  to  realize  more 
and  more  how  delightful  Edith  Creighton  was ; 
and  also  to  understand  (helped  thereto,  per- 
haps, by  Selwyn 's  hints)  that  nothing  was 
nearer  his  uncle's  heart  than  the  hope  that  he 
would  fall  in  love  with  the  charming  girl,  and 
that  the  desirable  and  obvious  thing  (evidently 
expected  by  every  one)  of  their  marriage  would 
result. 

He  fancied,  from  an  amused  gleam  in  her 
eyes  now  and  then,  that  Edith  perceived  this 
as  clearly  as  himself;  but  if  so,  she  did  not 

164 


THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER  165 

allow  it  to  introduce  the  least  element  of  con- 
straint into  their  association,  which  was  as 
frank  and  agreeable  as  possible.  They  were 
almost  constantly  together;  and  he  was  now 
waiting  for  her  to  get  into  her  habit,  while  the 
horses,  ordered  when  they  left  the  breakfast 
table,  were  brought  out,  in  order  that  they 
might  ride  in  the  lovely  autumn  morning  to  an 
outlying  farm  of  the  estate,  where  a  tenant  was 
to  be  seen  on  behalf  of  his  uncle.  Already 
the  stamping  of  the  horses  on  the  gravel  out- 
side had  reached  his  ear;  and  when  the  door 
suddenly  opened,  he  looked  up,  expecting  to  see 
Edith's  graceful  figure.  Instead,  Mrs.  Creigh- 
ton  entered  hurriedly. 

"Laurence,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  as  hurried  as 
her  movements,  "I  am  anxious  about  your 
uncle ! ' ' 

Desmond  stared  at  her  in  surprise ;  for  it  had 
not  been  many  minutes  since  he  had  left  her  at 
breakfast,  as  serene  and  cheerful  as  usual;  yet 
she  now  appeared  more  disturbed  in  manner, 
and  apparently  in  mind,  than  he  had  ever 
before  seen  her. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  inquired,  starting 
quickly  to  his  feet.  "What  has  occurred  to 
make  you  anxious  about  him?" 

"Something  which  Virgil  has  just  told  me," 
she  answered.  "You  know  his  mail  is  always 
sent  up  on  his  breakfast  tray,  and  Virgil  says 
that  this  morning  there   was   a  letter  which 


166       THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

seemed  to  disturb  him  very  much.  After  read- 
ing it,  he  scarcely  touched  his  breakfast;  in 
Virgil's  words,  'just  sat  staring  at  the  letter,' 
and  did  not  answer  when  he  spoke  to  him.  Of 
course,  it  may  have  been  merely  preoccupation 
of  mind,  but  I  can't  help  fearing — " 

' '  Another  stroke  1 ' ' 

"Yes.  The  doctors  have  warned  me  that  any 
mental  agitation  might  bring  one  on.  And  what 
could  have  been  in  that  letter  ? ' ' 

Feeling  himself  unable  to  conjecture,  Des- 
mond made  a  practical  suggestion. 

Why  not  go  and  find  out!"  he  asked. 
I  was  wondering  if  perhaps  it  would  be  well 
for  you  to  go, ' '  she  suggested. 

"I  think  not,"  he  returned.  "It  strikes  me 
that  it  would  be  altogether  better  for  you  to 
see  him." 

"Then  I'll  go,"  she  said.  But,  nevertheless, 
she  lingered,  handling  nervously  various  small 
articles  on  the  mantel-shelf  bv  which  she  stood. 
"I  can't  imagine  who  could  have  written  any- 
thing to  upset  him  so  much,"  she  reflected 
aloud.  "His  business  affairs  are  all  in  perfect 
order,  so  far  as  I  know ;  and  it  couldn't  possibly 
be  anything  about  the  old  trouble. ' ' 

"Are  vou  sure  of  that?"  Desmond  asked. 
Standing  on  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace,  he 
glanced  into  the  over-mantel  mirror  as  he 
spoke,  and  met  her  eyes.  Struck  by  the  deepen- 
ing   of    their    troubled    expression,    he    added 


THE  JUDGE  EECEIVES  A  LETTER       167 

quickly:  " Don't  you  really  think  that,  instead 
of  worrying  yourself  with  conjectures,  it  would 
be  better  to  go  at  once  and  learn  what  is  the 
matter  f" 

"Yes;  I  am  going  now,"  she  replied  hastily. 
She  turned  toward  the  door,  but  paused  before 
reaching  it  and  looked  back  at  him,  as  if  struck 
by  a  sudden  recollection.  "There  was  a  tele- 
phone call  for  you  yesterday  from  the  Catholic 
priest  in  Kingsford,"  she  said.  "When  told 
that  you  were  absent,  he  asked  that  you  would 
call  him  up  on  your  return.  I  forgot  to  give 
you  the  message  when  you  came  in  last 
evening. ' ' 

"Thanks  for  remembering  to  give  it  now!" 
Desmond  said.  "I  don't  suppose  the  matter  is 
of  importance,  but  I'll  call  him  up  without 
further  delay." 

They  left  the  room  together ;  and  while  Mrs. 
Creighton  went  upstairs,  Desmond  took  down 
the  receiver  of  the  telephone  in  the  hall.  He 
got  the  priest's  house  almost  immediately,  and 
Father  Martin's  voice  answered  the  summons. 

' '  This  is  Desmond,  Father, ' '  he  said.  ' i  I  was 
absent  yesterday,  so  missed  your  call,  and  have 
just  heard  that  you  asked  me  to  call  you  up  on 
my  return.  I'm  very  sorry  for  the  delay,  but 
hope  it  hasn't  mattered." 

"I  hope  so,  too,"  the  priest's  deep,  quiet 
tones  replied;  "but  I  am  not  sure.  I  was  very 
anxious  to  communicate  with  you  yesterday; 


168       THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

and,  since  my  message  was  urgently  expressed, 
I  thought  I  should  certainly  hear  from  you  in 
the  course  of  the  day  or  evening.  I  was  expect- 
ing a  call  up  to  midnight. ' ' 

Desmond  felt  distinctly  startled.  It  was 
again  the  voice — that  strangely  expressive, 
disembodied  voice  of  the  telephone — which  told 
more  than  the  words.  Yet  the  words  were 
significant  enough;  for  clearly  it  was  a  matter 
of  importance  which  had  kept  the  priest  wait- 
ing and  hoping  to  hear  from  him  up  to  mid- 
night. 

"I'm  extremely  sorry,"  he  repeated;  "but, 
as  IVe  already  mentioned,  I  received  your 
message  only  a  minute  ago.  What  did  you  wish 
to  say  to  me!" 

"I  wished,"  Father  Martin  answered,  "to 
communicate  some  information  which  concerns 
you  in  a  certain  degree.  It  is  about  that  man — 
Tracy,  you  know — " 

"Oh,  about  Tracy!  YouVe  learned  some- 
thing, and  it  concerns  me!" 

"Indirectly,  yes.  But  in  a  more  direct  man- 
ner it  concerns — another  person.  I  wished  to 
ask  your  advice  about  the  best  way  to  com- 
municate with  that  person.  I  regret  now  that  I 
did  not  wait  longer.  But,  since  I  did  not  hear 
from  you,  and  since  I  understood  that  your 
absence  might  be  of  indefinite  duration,  I 
mailed  a  letter  late  last  night." 

Desmond  was  conscious  of  growing  cold.    An 


THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER      169 

instinct  amounting  to  a  certainty  was  in  his 
mind  as  he  asked: 

"To  whom  was  the  letter  addressed ?" 

' '  It  was  addressed  to  Judge  Wargrave, ' '  the 
grave  tones  replied;  "but  when  the  mail  is 
delivered  at  the  house,  you  can,  if  you  like, 
withhold  it  from  him  until  I  see  and  talk  to 
you. ' ' 

Even  over  the  telephone  the  groan  which 
responded  was  audible. 

"  It  is  too  late ! ' '  the  young  man  said.  i '  The 
letter  has  already  been  given  to  him.  But  I 
will  see  you  as  soon  as  possible,  and — excuse 
me !    I  must  go.    Good-bye ! ' ' 

It  was  necessary  to  close  the  conversation  in 
this  abrupt  fashion;  for  Mrs.  Creighton  was 
calling  him  from  the  upper  gallery,  with  a  note 
of  unmistakable  panic  in  her  voice. 

' '  Laurence ! — 0  Laurence ! ' '  she  cried. 

"Yes,  Aunt  Eachel,  I'm  coming!"  he 
answered,  as  he  flung  the  receiver  into  its 
holder  and  dashed  for  the  staircase. 

Hearing  the  cry,  Edith  came  flying  from  her 
chamber,  which  opened  on  the  gallery;  and 
together  they  ran  to  where  Mrs.  Creighton  was 
standing,  with  pale  face  and  startled  eyes. 

"  It  is  as  I  feared ! ' '  she  exclaimed  when  they 
reached  her.  ' '  He  has  had  another  stroke, — lie 
is  unconscious ! ' ' 

' '  Then  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  the  doc- 


170      THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

tor,"  Desmond  said  quickly.  "I'll  go  and 
telephone  for  him. ' ' 

"No,  no!"  Mrs.  Creighton  caught  his  arm  as 
he  was  turning  to  run  downstairs.  "You  must 
come  with  me.  Edith,  go  and  call  Dr.  Glynn. 
Beg  him  to  come  instantly." 

While  Edith  flew  to  obey  the  order,  Desmond 
found  himself  led — for  his  aunt  kept  fast  hold 
of  his  arm — toward  his  uncle's  apartment. 

"I  want  you  here  before  we  call  any  one 
else,"  she  told  him  agitatedly. 

A  moment  later  they  were  entering  the  large, 
pleasant  room  with  which  by  this  time  Des- 
mond had  become  very  familiar ;  for  of  late  he 
had  spent  several  hours  every  day  there,  talk- 
ing, reading  aloud,  or  playing  cribbage  with  the 
old  man,  who  seemed  to  find  constantly  increas- 
ing pleasure  in  his  companionship.  But  instead 
of  the  alert,  intellectual  personality  he  had 
learned  to  know  so  well,  there  was  now  a 
motionless  figure  lying  back  in  the  great  winged 
chair,  with  eyes  closed,  face  flushed,  and 
breathing  distinctly  stertorous. 

"So  I  found  him,"  Mrs.  Creighton  whis- 
pered, although  aware  that  she  might  have 
shouted  vainly  in  the  unconscious  ear.  ' '  I  tried 
to  rouse  him;  but  when  I  couldn't  succeed,  I 
knew  what  had  happened,  and  I  ran  and  called 
you.  Speak  to  him!  See  if  you  can  make  him 
hear. ' ' 

Notwithstanding  his  conviction  of  the  futility 


THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER   171 

of  the  effort,  Desmond  spoke  to  the  silent  figure 
again  and  yet  again.  Then  he  looked  at  his 
aunt  and  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  useless, "  he  said.  "We  can  not  rouse 
him.  ' ' 

"And  this  is  what  has  done  it!"  she  said, 
pointing  to  an  open  letter  which  the  nerveless 
fingers  still  held.  "It  is  why  I  wanted  you  to 
come  before  any  one  else.  Do  you  think  we 
should  read  this  letter?" 

Desmond  hesitated  an  instant  before  an- 
swering. If  he  had  known  no  more  about  the 
letter  than  Mrs.  Creighton  knew,  he  would 
probably  have  said  that  it  was  advisable  to  read 
it,  not  only  in  order  to  learn  what  had  produced 
such  an  effect,  but  also  to  discover  if  it  con- 
tained anv  matter  which  demanded  attention 
from  Judge  Wargave  's  family  or  legal  adviser. 
But  since  they  had  talked  in  the  library,  he  had 
learned  enough  about  the  letter  to  make  him 
feel  disinclined  to  touch  it ;  and  in  his  mind  the 
thought  rapidly  formulated :  "I  had  better  see 
Father  Martin  before  looking  at  it  myself,  or 
allowing  any  one  else  to  do  so."  Aloud,  he 
said : 

"I  don't  think  that  we  should  read  it  now. 
Later  it  may  become  a  duty  to  do  so ;  but,  until 
the  doctor  has  seen  my  uncle,  we  don't  know 
how  serious  this  attack  may  be.  If  it  is  not 
serious,  if  he  rallies  as  he  did  before,  he  might 
consider  that  we  had  taken  a  liberty  in  reading 


172      THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

something  which  may  be  altogether  private  and 
personal.' ' 

"You  are  right,"  Mrs.  Creighton  agreed. 
1 '  That  is  my  feeling  also ;  for  he  has  never  per- 
mitted any  one  to  take  liberties  with  his  private 
affairs.  We  had  better,  therefore,  just  put  it 
away.    Will  you  take  it  from  him  1 ' ' 

But  when  Desmond  attempted  to  draw  the 
paper  from  the  hand  which  held  it,  a  strange 
thing  happened.  Judge  Wargrave's  eyes 
opened,  an  angry  light  flashed  through  their 
dull,  glazed  expression,  and  an  inarticulate 
murmur  of  protest  came  from  his  lips.  Then, 
evidently  recognizing  the  face  that  bent  over 
him,  his  expression  changed ;  there  was  another 
inarticulate  murmur,  but  in  a  different  tone, 
and  the  grasp  of  the  hand  relaxed,  permitting 
the  letter  to  be  drawn  away,  after  which  the 
eyes  closed  again. 

"He  knew  you!"  Mrs.  Creighton  cried. 
"And  since  it  was  you,  he  was  willing  for  you 
to  take  the  letter.  Perhaps  he  wanted  you  to 
read  it." 

"I  hardly  think  so,"  Desmond  answered. 
"I  fancy  that  he  simply  felt  it  would  be  safe 
with  me.  So  for  the  present  this  is  what  we 
will  do  with  it."  He  folded  the  sheet  of  paper, 
slipped  it  into  its  envelope  which  lay  on  the 
open  desk  near  by,  and  placed  it  in  a  small 
drawer  below  the  pigeonholes.    He  then  closed 


THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTEE      173 

and  locked  the  desk.  "What  shall  I  do  with  the 
key?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  his  aunt. 

She  pointed  to  a  lower  drawer. 

' *  That  is  where  he  always  keeps  it, ' '  she  said. 

It  was  as  Desmond  opened  the  drawer  and 
dropped  the  key  into  it,  that  Edith  entered  the 
room. 

"I  was  lucky  enough  to  catch  Dr.  Glynn  at 
his  office,' '  she  said;  "and  he  is  coming  out 
immediately.  How  is  Uncle  George?  Ah" — as 
she  saw  the  motionless  figure  in  the  great  chair, 
— ' '  it  is  just  such  a  seizure  as  the  other !  Can 
you  rouse  him  at  all?    Does  he  know  any  one?" 

"He  seemed  to  know  Laurence  a  moment 
ago,"  Mrs.  Creighton  answered;  "but  it  was 
only  a  gleam  of  consciousness.  Try  if  you  can 
rouse  him." 

But  Edith  tried  in  vain.  Although  she  laid 
her  soft  hand  on  the  Judge's  brow,  smoothing 
back  the  silvery,  silken  hair,  and  called  his 
name  in  her  most  caressing  tones,  there  was  not 
the  faintest  sign  of  consciousness;  and  Des- 
mond felt  quite  sure  that  nothing  short  of  his 
touch  upon  the  letter  could  have  stirred  a  chord 
of  the  dormant  brain. 

When  Dr.  Glynn  arrived  a  little  later,  heard 
the  details  of  the  seizure  and  examined  the 
patient,  he  looked  very  grave. 

"There  has  been  a  shock  which  has  produced 
another  cerebral  hemorrhage, ' '  he  said.  "What 
will  be  the  result,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.     It 


174      THE  JUDGE  EECEIYES  A  LETTER 

seems  too  much  to  hope  that  a  man  of  Judge 
Wargrave's  age  can  rally  again  as  he  rallied 
from  the  other  stroke.  He  may  recover  to  some 
degree,  but  I  fear  that  he  will  never  be  himself 
again.  Meanwhile  he  needs  very  careful  atten- 
tion, and  I  would  suggest  a  trained  nurse  for 
him. ' ' 

It  was  the  natural,  one  might  almost  say  the 
inevitable,  suggestion  of  the  present  time ;  but, 
nevertheless,  Desmond  started  as  he  heard  it. 
For  it  made  him  once  more  recall  the  railway 
wreck,  and  how  he  had  then  asked  Hester  Lan- 
don  if  she  would  be  willing  to  take  a  private 
case  should  she  be  requested  to  do  so.  His 
uncle  had,  of  course,  been  in  his  mind  when  he 
asked  the  question;  and,  natural  as  this  also 
was,  it  seemed  to  him  now  another  strange  link 
in  the  sequence  of  events  which  connected  the 
master  of  Hillcrest  with  that  tragic  occasion. 
He  had  a  sudden,  vivid  picture  of  the  uncon- 
scious figure  of  the  man  who  lay  dying  on  the 
ground,  with  the  priest  and  himself  standing 
over  him, — a  picture  which  was  a  companion  to 
that  of  the  other  unconscious  figure  lying  back 
in  a  chair,  with  a  letter  in  its  fingers.  He 
remembered  what  he  had  said  to  the  nurse  when 
he  saw  her  last  of  the  mysterious  manner  in 
which  we  act  blindly  upon  each  other  in  this 
mysterious  life.  And  then  he  paused,  wonder- 
ing, yet  feeling  sure,  what  would  come  next. 

It  was  Mrs.   Creighton  who  was   speaking. 


THE  JUDGE  EECEIVES  A  LETTER      175 

"Whatever  you  think  best,  doctor/ '  she  said; 
"but  we  managed  very  well  before,  you  know." 

"The  Judge  rallied  in  a  surprising  manner 
and  in  a  surprisingly  short  time  before,"  the 
doctor  answered.  "This  is  a  more  serious 
attack,  and  I  shall  be  better  satisfied  if  I  know 
that  the  case  is  in  the  hands  of  a  professional 
nurse.' ' 

"Can  you,  then,  send  us  a  nurse  from  the 
hospital  ?"  Mrs.  Creighton  asked. 

"From  the  hospital?  No,"  Dr.  Glynn 
replied.  "We  have  no  nurses  to  send  out.  But 
there  chances  to  be  in  Kingsford  just  now  a 
young  woman  who  is  one  of  the  best  nurses  I 
have  ever  met  with.  She  is  Miss  Landon, — the 
heroine  of  the  railway  wreck,  you  remember  ? ' ' 
he  added,  glancing  at  Desmond. 

"I  remember  extremely  well,"  Desmond  res- 
ponded; while  he  said  to  himself  that  the 
manner  in  which  things  proceeded,  as  if  in  a 
prearranged  drama,  was  positively  ridiculous. 
"I  am  sure  that  whoever  secures  Miss  Lan- 
don's  services  will  be  fortunate,"  he  went  on. 
"But  is  she  not  at  your  hospital?" 

"Not  at  present,"  the  doctor  replied.  "On 
the  recovery  of  the  patient  of  whom  she  was  in 
charge  about  a  week  ago,  she  left  the  hospital 
(although  we  should  have  been  glad  to  keep 
her)  and  went  away — to  Baltimore,  I  believe. 
But  she  has  returned  to  Kingsford;  for  I  met 
her  on  the  street  only  yesterday,  and  she  told 


176   THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

me  that  she  expects  to  remain  for  some  time. 
So  it  is  possible  that  I  may  be  able  to  get  her 
for  you.    Shall  I  endeavor  to  do  so  ? " 

' 'If  you  please,"  Mrs.  Creighton,  to  whom 
the  question  was  addressed,  replied ;  i '  although 
I  don't  know  what  Virgil  will  think  of  finding 
himself  supplanted. ' ' 

"Oh,  Virgil  will  not  be  supplanted ! ' '  Dr. 
Glynn  assured  her.  "He  will  have  as  much  to 
do  for  the  Judge  as  ever,  but  you  and  Miss 
Edith  will  not  have  such  demands  upon  your 
time  and  strength  as  you  had  before." 

"So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  have  no  desire 
to  be  relieved  of  the  demands,"  Edith  said; 
"but  I  am  aware  that  a  trained  nurse  will  be 
able  to  do  things  much  better  than  I  can,  and  I 
suppose  one  must  be  modern  at  all  costs.  But 
what  Uncle  George  will  think,  if  he  ever 
recovers  enough  to  be  aware  of  this  modern 
invasion,  is  what  I  don't  know." 

"Sufficient  to  the  day  is  the — er — difficulty 
thereof,"  the  doctor  returned.  "And,  in  order 
that  our  dear  old  friend  may  have  a  chance  to 
^recover,  he  must  have  the  best  attention  of 
every  kind.  I  think  he  will  be  quite  satisfied 
with  what  we  have  done,  if  he  is  spared  to  come 
to  himself  again." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  doctor,"  Mrs.  Creighton 
said.  "So  kindly  let  us  know  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible if  the  nurse  of  whom  you  have  spoken  can 
come. ' ' 


THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER   177 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  Dr.  Glynn  was 
stepping  into  his  carriage,  Desmond,  who  had 
gone  out  with  him,  said : 

"I  shall  be  much  obliged  if  you  will  give  me 
Miss  Landon's  address,  doctor.  I  am  going 
into  Kingsford  immediately  on  a  matter  of 
business,  and  I  should  like  to  see  her  person- 
ally, and  tell  her  how  glad  we  shall  be  if  she 
will  come. ' ' 

The  doctor  drew  out  his  note-book. 

"I  took  down  her  address  when  I  met  her 
yesterday,''  he  said.  "She  is  at  Mrs.  Gray's 
boarding-house,  29  East  Broad  Street.  But, 
unless  you  wish  to  do  so,  you  need  not  trouble 
to  see  her;  for  I  am  going  directly  to  her,  and 
I  will  promptly  telephone  Mrs.  Creighton  if  she 
can  come,  as  I  have  little  doubt  but  that  she 
can." 

It  was  probably  the  instinct  which  had  so 
curiously  developed  in  him  lately  which  made 
Desmond  feel  that  there  was  doubt  neverthe- 
less, though  he  did  not  say  so. 

"I  infer  that  you  think  the  case  very 
serious, ' '  he  remarked. 

"Why,  yes,"  Dr.  Glynn  answered.  "A 
second  seizure  of  this  kind  in  a  man  of  Judge 
Wargrave's  years  could  not  be  other  than  ex- 
tremely serious.  I  doubt  if  he  will  ever  recover 
consciousness  again.  If  he  does,  he  will  most 
probably  have  lost  the  power  of  speech  alto- 
gether."   He  paused  a  moment.    "It  was  very 


178   THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

unfortunate  that  the  letter  which  produced  this 
condition  should  have  been  allowed  to  reach 
him,"  he  said. 

"Most  unfortunate,"  Desmond  agreed. 
"But,  since  no  one  has  exercised  any  surveil- 
lance over  his  mail,  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  prevent  its  reaching  him. ' ' 

"Hum!"  The  doctor  cleared  his  throat 
significantly.  "If  anything  of  this  kind  was  to 
have  been  feared,  there  should  have  been  some 
surveillance,"  he  commented.  "There  has 
evidently  been  a  great  shock.  I  am  an  old 
friend  of  Judge  Wargrave,  as  well  as  his 
physician,"  he  broke  off  abruptly;  "so  I  don't 
think  that  I  intrude  in  asking  what  the  letter 
contained. ' ' 

"We  do  not  know,"  Desmond  replied,  with  a 
sense  of  gratitude  for  the  impulse  which  had  led 
him  to  decide  as  he  did  about  the  letter. 
"Neither  my  aunt  nor  myself  felt  that  we  had 
a  right  to  read  it. ' ' 

Dr.  Glynn  lifted  his  eyebrows,  evidently 
much  surprised. 

"I  should  not  have  been  so  scrupulous,"  he 
said,  a  little  dryly.  "It  may  contain  something 
which  you  ought  to  know;  and  I  fear  that  the 
Judge  will  never  be  in  a  condition  to  attend  to 
business  of  any  kind  again. ' ' 

"In  that  case,  we  will  of  course  examine  it," 
Desmond  said.    "But  for  the  present  we  have 


THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTEE       179 


simply  laid  it  aside.  If  ray  uncle  recovers  suf- 
ficiently to  ask  for  it — " 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  as  he  stepped  into 
his  carriage. 

"There  is  nothing  more  unlikely  than  that  he 
will  ever  even  remember  it, ' '  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FATHER  MARTIN  TELLS  MISS  LANDON'S  STORY 

Father  Martin  showed  traces  of  strong 
agitation  when  he  met  the  young  man  who 
presently  dismounted  at  his  door. 

"What  has  happened?''  he  demanded  at 
once.  "I  have  been  wretched  ever  since  you 
broke  off  at  the  telephone.  I  could  hear  a 
woman's  voice  screaming  for  you,  and  I  knew 
something  dreadful  had  occurred.  Have  I 
killed  Judge  Wargrave  1 ' ' 

"Not  quite,"  Desmond  answered;  "but  the 
matter  contained  in  your  letter  proved  such  a 
shock  to  him  that  it  has  brought  on  another 
stroke  of  apoplexy,  which  may  prove  fatal. ' ' 

The  priest  groaned. 

"How  hard  it  is  to  know  what  to  do!"  he 
said.  "If  I  could  only  have  reached  you 
yesterday — " 

"But  why  not  have  waited  until  you  could 
reach  me?"  Desmond  asked,  although  aware  of 
the  futility  of  the  question.  "You  might  have 
known  that  I  would  communicate  with  you  as 
soon  as  I  received  your  message." 

1 1  But  I  could  not  tell  when  you  would  receive 

1 80 


MISS  LANDOX'S  STORY  181 

it,"  Father  Martin  replied.  "And  after  I  had 
waited  many  hours,  I  said  to  myself  that  there 
was  really  no  reason  for  waiting ;  that  I  was,  in 
a  certain  sense,  shirking  responsibility  by 
bringing  you  into  the  matter ;  that,  after  all,  my 
duty  was  plain:  I  had  only  to  deliver  a  mes- 
sage, to  tell  a  few  facts  to  one  whom  they  con- 
cerned. And  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  sooner 
this  was  done  the  better.  *  There  has  been  too 
much  delay  already/  I  thought.  'What  if  this 
man,  who  is  old  and  frail,  should  die  without 
knowing  what  I  have  to  tell  him!  It  might 
make  a  difference  in  many  things,  and  I  could 
never  forgive  myself  if  it  occurred  through  my 
neglect  of  duty. '  So,  after  a  prayer,  I  went  out 
and  mailed  the  letter  I  had  written.' ' 

"Well,"  Desmond  said — they  were  by  this 
time  in  the  study,  sitting  opposite  to  each  other, 
— ' '  it  may  have  been  the  right  thing  to  do ;  but 
there  is,  unfortunately,  no  doubt  of  the  effect  it 
has  produced.  Yet  I  don't  know  that  if  I  had 
received  your  message,  I  could  have  advised  a 
better  manner  of  proceeding.  I  could  only  have 
urged  caution,  considering  my  uncle's  con- 
dition. But  if  you  had  to  tell  whatever  it 
was — " 

The  priest  nodded. 

"I  had  to  tell  it,"  he  said.  "In  a  case  of 
conscience,  one  has  no  discretion:  the  repara- 
tion of  wrong  must  be  made  to  those  who  are 
concerned.    But  I  thought  that,  as  a  member  of 


182  FATHER  MARTIN  TELLS 

the  family  and  your  uncle's  heir,  you  might, 
perhaps,  have  prepared  him  for  the  communi- 
cation which  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  make." 

"It  would  have  thrown  a  responsibility  on 
me,  which  I  think  I  am  rather  glad  to  be 
spared,"  Desmond  said  frankly.  "And  in  any 
event  the  shock  would  probably  have  been 
great,  the  effect  perhaps  the  same."  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  asked :  ' '  Can  you 
tell  me  anything  about  it  ? " 

"Yes,  I  can  tell  you,"  the  priest  answered. 
"And  it  is  easier  because  you  know  something 
already.  It  relates  to  the  confession  of  that 
man  Tracy,  who — and  really  this  is  odd — owed 
the  chance  to  make  his  confession  to  vou. ' ' 

"The  confession  which  has — probably — 
killed  my  uncle ! ' '  Desmond  exclaimed.  ' '  Don 't 
you  see  that  it  is  almost  terrible,  the  way  I  am 
linked  with  this  thing?  But  for  my  effort,  as 
you  say,  the  man  would  not  have  had  the  oppor- 
tunity to  make  his  confession,  which  in  its 
immediate  result  at  least — " 

But  Father  Martin's  lifted  hand  stayed  his 
words. 

"What  do  we  really  know  of  results,  either 
immediate  or  remote?"  the  priest  asked. 
"You  did  your  duty,  and  you  should  be  glad  to 
feel  that  vou  have  been  an  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  God,  not  only  to  save  that  man's  soul, 
but  also — see  here!  Don't  you  think  it  better 
for  your  uncle  to  be  struck  down  as  he  is,  than 


MISS  LANDON'S  STORY  183 

to  have  died  ignorant  of  a  great  wrong  done  to 
his  son,  certainly  by  others,  and  perhaps  by 
himself?" 

Desmond  started. 

"So  that  was  it!"  he  said,  in  an  awed  tone. 
' '  There  was  a  wrong  done  to  Harry  Wargrave, 
and  this  man  knew  of  it ! ' ' 

"Knew  of  it,  profited  by  it,  stood  back  and 
let  the  other  suffer  for  his  own  wrongdoing !  I 
can  not  give  you  details,  because  he  did  not  give 
them  himself  (you  remember  how  far  gone  he 
was  when  the  confession  was  made).  But  it 
seems  that,  being  in  a  position  of  trust  in  a 
business  house,  he  had  used  his  friend,  an 
employe  like  himself,  as  a  cat's-paw,  so  that 
forged  cheques  and  various  embezzlements 
were  traceable  only  to  him." 

"To  Harry  Wargrave?" 

"Yes,  to  Wargrave,  whose  name,  however, 
was  missing  from  the  confession  as  Tracy  made 
it." 

"Then  how  have  you  been  able  to  supply  it?" 
Desmond  inquired  with  astonishment. 

' '  That  is  where  the  story  grows  rather  extra- 
ordinary," Father  Martin  replied, — "almost 
too  extraordinary  for  belief,  indeed,  if  we 
priests  were  not  accustomed  to  extraordinary 
things;  in  other  words,  to  the  entrance  of  a 
supernatural  agency  into  the  affairs  of  human 
life.  Of  course  it  may  have  been  merely  owing 
to  what  is  called  coincidence  that  there  was  on 


184  FATHER  MARTIN  TELLS 

the  train  a  person  possessing  a  knowledge  of 
the  events  of  which  we  have  spoken  in  Tracy's 
life,  although  she  had  never  seen  the  man — " 

"You  are  talking  of  Miss  Landon, — the  nurse 
who  kept  him  alive  until  you  came  1 '  ' 

Again  Father  Martin  nodded. 

"Just  so,"  he  said.  "To  keep  him  alive  was 
her  part,  and  God  has  given  her  a  great  reward 
for  her  charity.' ' 

"In  God's  name  what  has  she  to  do  with  it?" 
Desmond  asked. 

"It  appears  that  she  has  very  much  to  do 
with  it,"  the  priest  answered;  "so  much,  in 
fact,  that  she  assured  me  that  she  would  have 
given  anything  short  of  her  immortal  soul  to 
secure  the  confession  which  in  his  last  hour 
Tracy  made,  unsolicited.  Being  aware  that  the 
man  who  died  as  a  result  of  the  accident  had 
a  wrong  on  his  conscience  which  he  desired  to 
confess,  she  came  to  me  as  soon  as  she  learned 
his  name  (you've  already  heard  this),  and 
begged  me  to  tell  her  what  he  had  said.  To  tell 
her  was,  of  course,  impossible ;  but  I  promised 
that,  if  she  could  convince  me  that  she  had  a 
right  to  know  the  substance  of  the  confession, 
I  would  give  it  to  her.  Well,  you  remember  the 
letter  you  carried  to  her.  It  was  soon  after 
that  she  came  to  me  again  and  told  me  she  was 
going  to  Baltimore  to  see  Tracy's  sister.  I 
asked  what  she  expected  to  gain  by  this,  since 
it  was  clear  from  the  woman's  letter  to  me  that 


MISS  LANDON'S  STOEY  185 

she  had  no  intention  of  throwing  light  on  any- 
discreditable  acts  in  her  brother's  life.  Miss 
Landon  replied  that  she  would  make  no  effort 
to  obtain  information  of  the  kind  from  her.  'It 
is  probable  that  I  know  much  more  than  she 
does  about  the  events  we  are  concerned  with  in 
her  brother's  life,  if  he  was  the  man  I  think 
him  to  have  been,'  she  said.  'I  shall  ask  Mrs. 
Barnes  only  to  establish  his  identity,  and  shall 
not  ask  that  directly.  I  shall  explain  my  visit 
by  telling  her  that  I  am  the  nurse  who  assisted 
her  brother  at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  that, 
on  hearing  his  name,  I  wondered  if  he  were  a 
Tracy  of  whom  I  had  known.  She  will  be 
forced  to  tell  me  then  exactly  who  he  was,  and 
that  is  all  I  want  to  learn.' — 'Is  it  all  that  I 
shall  want  to  learn!'  I  asked;  and  she  an- 
swerod:  'I  think  it  is.  I  think  that  when  I 
come  back  and  tell  you  what  I  know  of  the  man 
— granting  that  he  is  the  man  I  believe  him  to 
be, — you  will  find  that  my  story  fits  into  his 
story  as  a  key  into  the  wards  of  a  lock,  and  you 
will  be  readv  to  tell  me  all  that  I  need  to  know 
of  what  he  said  before  he  died. '  ' ' 

The  priest's  voice  fell,  and  there  was  a  pause 
in  the  quiet  study  for  a  minute  or  two, — a  pause 
that  seemed  filled  with  electrical  suspense  to 
Desmond,  as  he  found  himself  somewhat  con- 
fusedly realizing  the  full  meaning  of  what  he 
had  just  heard.  Father  Martin  gave  him  time 
to  do  this.     He  looked  down,  smoothing  with 


186  FATHEE  MAKTIN  TELLS 

his  hand  his  soutane  over  his  knees,  and  did  not 
glance  up  until  the  young  man  spoke,  in  an  odd, 
quick  voice. 

1  i Father,' '  he  said,  "do  you  understand  that 
all  this  can  have  but  one  meaning, — that  the 
person  who  talks  in  this  way  must  have  been 
very  closely  connected  with  Harry  Wargrave  1 ' ' 

"Yes,  I  understand  it,"  the  priest  answered. 
"I  have  understood  it  from  the  time  she 
returned  and  told  me  her  story,  which,  as  she 
had  promised,  fitted  into  Tracy's  confession  'as 
a  key  into  the  wards  of  a  lock.'  Hearing  it,  I 
could  not  have  any  doubt  that  the  missing  link 
of  evidence  was  supplied;  that  her  relation  and 
his  relation  of  certain  things  was  substantially 
the  same ;  that  the  name  she  furnished  was  the 
name  he  had  failed  to  give,  and  that  I  was 
bound  to  fulfil  his  last  urgent  request  and  tell 
the  truth  to  those  whom  it  concerned. ' ' 

"I  may  suppose,  then,  that  you  told  it  to 
her?"  Desmond  hazarded. 

Father  Martin  opened  his  hands  with  an 
expressive  gesture. 

"There  was  no  necessity  to  tell  her  any- 
thing, ' '  he  said.  ' i  She  knew  more  than  I  did, — 
details  at  which  Tracy  had  merely  hinted  in  his 
hurried  declaration.  She  did  not  want  infor- 
mation from  me,  but  merely  an  acknowledg- 
ment that  the  man  had  revealed  certain  facts, 
and  had  requested  that  reparation  for  the 
wrong  of  which  he  had  been  guilty  should  be 


MISS  LANDON'S  STORY  187 

made  by  a  statement  of  these  facts.  What  she 
desired — it  seemed  to  be  all  she  desired — was 
that  this  statement  should  be  made  as  soon  as 
possible:  that  the  father  of  the  man  who  had 
been  wronged  should  know  before  it  was  too 
late  the  truth  about  his  son." 

"And  so  you  wrote  the  letter  which  has — " 
"Nearly  killed  Judge  Wargrave, — yes.  I  do 
not  wonder  that  when  he  learned  what  long  and 
terrible  injustice  he  has  done  to  his  son — he,  not 
another,  for  we  owe  faith  to  those  whom  we 
love  as  well  as  to  God, — the  blow  was  over- 
whelming. But  I  regret  very  much  that  I  did 
not  at  least  consult  you  before  dealing  it.  For, 
as  I  told  Miss  Landon,  you  are  clearly  one  of 
those  who  have  a  right  to  hear  the  substance  of 
Tracy's  confession." 

"You  told  her  that?    And  she—?" 
"Was   more   surprised   than  I  can   readily 
express  to  you;  for  it  appears  that  she  had 
never   heard   of   your    relationship    to    Judge 
Wagrave. ' ' 

"Of  course  not,"  Desmond  said.  "How 
would  she  have  heard  of  it?  She  knows  no  one 
in  Kingsford,  I  fancy;  and  it's  almost  unneces- 
sary to  say  that  I  never  thought  of  mentioning 
it  to  her  on  the  single  occasion  when  I  have  seen 
her  since  the  railway  wreck. ' ' 

"The  strangeness  of  your  connection  with 
the  matter  seemed  to  strike  her  with  great 
force, ' '  Father  Martin  went  on.    ' l  She  repeated 


188  FATHER  MARTIN  TELLS 

more  than  once :  'It  is  almost  incredible  that  he 
should  have  been  brought  into  it, — he  who  is  to 
take  the  place  of  the  man  who  was  cast  ofT  ! '  " 

"She  knows  that,  then!" 

"As  I  have  told  you,  she  knows  everything. 
IVe  little  doubt,  though  we  did  not  enter  into 
the  subject,  that  she  knows  as  much  as  you  do 
about  the  Wargrave  trust." 

"But  how  does  she  know  all  this?"  the  young 
man  demanded  vehemently.  "In  brief,  who  is 
she?" 

"It  was  no  part  of  my  duty  to  ask,"  the 
priest  replied;  "and  she  volunteered  no  infor- 
mation about  herself.  This  struck  me  very 
much;  for  most  people  are  only  too  ready  to 
offer  information  about  themselves  on  all 
occasions.  But  the  manner  in  which  this  girl 
told  her  story  was — well,  extraordinary.  It 
was  so  detached,  dispassionate,  and  devoid  of 
one  personal  word.  When  she  finished  her 
clear-cut  and  circumstantial  account  of  the 
relations  and  transactions  between  the  two  men 
a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  she  asked  me  if  it 
agreed  with  Tracy's  story.  I  told  her  that  it 
agreed  in  every  particular.  '  Then, '  she  said, '  if 
you  are  convinced  that  I  have  supplied  the 
name  which  was  lacking  in  his  confession,  I  call 
upon  you  to  fulfil  your  promise,  and  make  the 
reparation  he  desired.' — 'What  exactly  do  you 
wish  me  to  do?'  I  asked,  in  order  to  see  what 
she  would  say. — 'I  wish  you,'  she  said,  'to  let 


MISS  LANDON'S  STOEY  189 

Judge  Wargrave  know  the  truth  about  his  son. 
And  I  would  urge  you  to  do  this  immediately; 
for  he  is  an  old  man,  and  likely,  I  have  heard, 
to  die  at  any  time. '  I  knew  that  she  was  right 
about  this — I  mean  about  his  age  and  precari- 
ous state  of  health, — so  I  promised  that  I  would 
not  delay  my  communication.  And  that  is  one 
reason  why  I  acted  with  what  appears  to  you 
unnecessary  haste.' ' 

"I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that  it  was  un- 
necessary," Desmond  responded.  "And  the 
consequences  might  have  been  unavoidable 
under  any  circumstances.  For  I  can  well 
imagine  that  the  agony  of  mind  which  a  man 
like  my  uncle  would  feel  in  learning  that  he  had 
been  guilty  of  such  injustice  toward  his  son 
might  produce  the  effect  it  did,  no  matter  what 
precautions  had  been  taken  in  communicating 
the  facts.  But  the  tragic  thing  is  that  nothing 
seems  gained:  he  is  unconscious  now,  and  the 
doctor  says  may  never  regain  consciousness." 

"Ah,  well!"  the  priest  sighed.  "We  can 
only  do  our  duty,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God.  It 
will  be  sad  if  he  is  never  able  to  repair  any 
practical  injustice  which  may  have  been 
done — " 

He  paused,  as  a  sudden  exclamation  escaped 
Desmond's  lips.  The  young  man  was  looking 
at  him  with  a  startled  gaze. 

' i  I  have  not  thought  of  that  before, ' '  he  said. 
"If  there  has  been  practical  injustice  done  to 


190  FATHER  MARTIN  TELLS 

any  one,  it  must  be  repaired.  I  know  my  uncle 
well  enough  to  be  sure  that  he  will  do  this  if  he 
is  able.  If  he  is  not  able,  the  duty  will  fall  upon 
the  family,  and  particularly — " 

"Upon  you?"  Father  Martin  was  regarding 
him  keenly. 

"Yes,  upon  me,"  Desmond  went  on;  "for  his 
will,  if  he  dies  without  changing  it,  constitutes 
me  the  head  of  the  family. ' ' 

"And  do  you  think  that,  if  he  lives,  he  will  be 
likely  to  change  this  will  1 ' ' 

"I  can  think  nothing  without  knowing 
more, ' '  the  young  man  said.  '  *  And  I  can  learn 
more  only  from  the  person  who  seems  to  hold 
in  her  hands  the  key  to  much  besides  Tracy's 
story. ' '  He  rose  as  he  spoke.  ' '  I  will  go  to  her 
now,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  that  will  be  best,"  Father  Martin 
agreed.  He,  too,  rose  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  he  observed.  "Your 
inheritance  has  brought  you  trouble  very 
early. ' ' 

"It  is  not  my  inheritance  yet,  thank  God!" 
the  other  returned.  "And  I  can  assure  you 
that  it  never  will  be  my  inheritance,  if  it  rests 
in  any  degree  upon  injustice  to  another.  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  that  from  the  first. ' ' 

"  I  do  not  think, ' '  the  priest  said  reflectively, 
"that  this  young  woman,  whatever  her  relation 
to  Judge  Wargrave's  son  may  have  been,  is 
here  to  make  any  claim  on  account  of  that  rela- 


MISS  LANDON'S  STORY  191 

tionship.  From  first  to  last,  her  manner  lias 
impressed  me  with  a  sense  of  singular  personal 
detachment.  She  wished,  as  a  matter  of  justice, 
that  the  truth  should  be  made  known  to  one 
whom  it  deeply  concerned,  but  she  has  appa- 
rently no  intention  of  coming  forward  herself. ' ' 

"Fate  has  settled  the  matter,  however,"  Des- 
mond said  a  little  grimly.  "She  must  come 
forward,  and  she  must  explain  who  she  is.  I 
am  going  to  ask  that  question  now.  Thank  you, 
Father,  for  being  so  frank  with  me.  And  good- 
bye I" 

"I  am  ready  to  be  more  frank — that  is,  to 
go  into  more  detail — whenever  you  desire," 
Father  Martin  detained  him  to  say.  "If  the 
improbable,  almost  the  impossible,  should  hap- 
pen, and  Judge  Wargrave  ask  to  see  me,  I  need 
hardly  tell  you  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  respond 
to  his  summons  at  any  time.  If  you  read  my 
letter—" 

' '  I  did  not  read  it, ' '  Desmond  told  him. 

"No?"  Father  Martin  looked  almost  as 
much  surprised  as  Dr.  Glynn  had  looked  at  the 
same  statement.  "I  should  have  expected  you 
to  do  so, ' '  he  said.  "Well,  in  the  letter  I  simply 
informed  him  that,  through  the  confession  of  a 
dying  man,  whose  name  I  mentioned,  I  had 
come  into  possession  of  certain  facts  which 
completely  exonerated  his  son  from  a  charge  of 
dishonorable  conduct.  I  put  this  mildly,  out  of 
regard  for  his  feelings;  but  the  charge  was 


192  MISS  LAXDOX'S  STORY 

really  of  forgery  and  defalcation.  And  I  added 
that  I  would  take  pleasure  in  giving  all  neces- 
sary particulars,  whenever  he  was  able  to  allow 
me  to  visit  him." 

"I  do  not  see  how  you  could  have  put  the 
matter  more  considerately, "  Desmond  said, 
with  a  note  of  grateful  appreciation  in  his  tone. 
"  There  would  seem  to  be  nothing  in  such  a 
communication  to  affect  him  so  terribly,  unless 
one  remembers  the  long  mental  suffering  it 
recalled,  and  the  flood  of  regret  and  remorse 
which  no  doubt  overpowered  him." 

"That  was  it,"  the  priest  said  gravely. 
"Their  ideal  of  personal  honor  was  scarcely 
less  than  an  idol  to  the  men  of  Judge  War- 
grave's  generation;  and  it  produced  a  Spartan 
sternness  toward  those  who  violated  its  re- 
quirements. This  spirit  upheld  him  as  long  as 
he  believed  his  son  guilty  of  such  violation ;  but 
when  the  revelation  of  the  truth  came,  and  he 
recognized  that  a  code  less  stern  would  have 
been  more  truly  just,  why,  then  it  is  easy  to 
believe  that  the  proud  old  heart  broke,  before 
some  obscure  bloodvessel  was  ruptured  in  the 
brain." 

Desmond  nodded. 

"I  think  it  must  have  been  so,"  he  said. 
"Pray  for  him,  Father.  And  again  good-bye! 
I  am  anxious  to  see  Miss  Landon  as  soon  as 
possible." 


CHAPTER  XV 

MISS  LANDON'S  SECEET  IS  EEVEALED 

Desmond  felt  himself  fortunate  in  that  the 
parlor  of  the  boarding-house  into  which  he  was 
ushered  was  empty;  for,  aware  that  boarding- 
house  parlors  are  frequently  otherwise  than 
empty,  and  that  there  is  scant  possibility  at 
any  time  of  securing  undisturbed  privacy  in 
them,  he  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind,  as  he 
went  from  the  priest's  house  to  Mrs.  Gray's, 
what  means  he  could  adopt  to  secure  private 
speech  with  Miss  Landon,  since  private  speech 
was,  by  the  needs  of  the  case,  imperatively 
required.  He  had  decided  that  he  would  ask 
her  to  take  a  walk  with  him,  in  the  hope  of 
finding  some  quiet  spot  where  they  might  talk. 
But,  being  doubtful  how  she  might  receive  the 
suggestion,  it  was  with  a  great  sense  of  relief 
that  he  found  himself  awaiting  her  in  an  apart- 
ment which  left  much  to  be  desired  in  the 
aesthetic  regard,  but  nothing  at  all  in  the  morn- 
ing stillness  which  wrapped  it. 

Into  that  stillness  she  entered,  without,  as  it 
were,  disturbing  it,  so  soft  was  her  light  tread, 
so   quiet  her   restrained   and   graceful  move- 

193 


194  MISS  LAND01TS  SECRET  IS  REVEALED 

ments.  Except  for  this  bearing,  there  was  no 
professional  sign  about  her;  for  the  white 
uniform  of  the  nurse  had  been  laid  aside,  and 
in  her  well-fitting  cloth  skirt  and  silken  blouse 
she  was  again  the  girl  whose  air  of  distinction 
had  attracted  his  notice  in  the  Pullman  before 
the  awful  crash  came  which  had  thrown  them, 
both  literally  and  figuratively,  together.  It  was 
this  air  of  distinction  which  struck  him  now,  as 
she  came  into  the  room,  her  head  lifted  high  on 
its  slender  throat,  and  her  eyes  very  clear  and 
shining ;  while  she,  on  her  part,  looked  with  new 
interest  at  the  tall  young  man  who  advanced  to 
meet  her,  his  face  vivid  with  eager  pleasure. 

"Providence  has  brought  us  together  again, 
you  see,"  were  his  first  words,  when  he  took  the 
hand  which  she  appeared  in  no  haste  to  offer; 
"and  I  understand  now  why  I  felt  so  certain 
that  it  could  not  be  otherwise. ' ' 

Her  gaze  seemed  to  challenge  him  as  she 
asked : 

"What  do  you  understand?" 

"That  we  are  connected  by  more  than  our 
chance  association,"  he  replied.  "I  have  just 
left  Father  Martin ;  I  have  heard  his  story,  and 
I  have  come  to  beg  you  to  be  good  enough  to  tell 
me  who  you  are/' 

She  drew  her  hand  from  his  clasp,  and  her- 
self stepped  back  a  little,  while  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  spiritual  as  well  as  bodily  recoil. 

"It  does  not  appear  to  me,"  she  answered — 


MISS  LAKDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED  195 

and  all  its  quality  of  crystalline  coolness  was  in 
her  voice, — ' '  that  it  concerns  you  to  know  who 
I  am." 

"That  is  inaccurate  as  well  as  unkind/'  he 
returned;  "for  you  must  be  aware  that  it  con- 
cerns me  very  much.  You  have  heard  who  I 
am." 

"Yes"  (the  voice  was  still  more  cool  and 
clear  now) :  "you  are  Judge  Wargrave's 
nephew  and  heir." 

"We  will,  if  you  please,  leave  the  question 
of  heirship  aside,"  he  said.  "It  is  because  I 
am  Judge  Wargrave's  nephew,  and  therefore 
a  member  of  his  family,  that  I  am  deeply  inter- 
ested in  what  I  have  learned  of  Tracy's  con- 
fession and  the  matter  with  which  it  deals. 
You  have  furnished  the  key  to  that  confession, 
have  made  its  revelation  possible,  and  thereby 
cleared  my  cousin's  name  from  a  charge  of  the 
most  serious  dishonor.  Would  it  not,  then,  be 
very  strange  if  I  did  not  desire  to  know  how 
you  were  able  to  do  this, — or,  as  I  put  it  bluntly 
at  first,  who  vou  are  ? ' ' 

She  did  not  answer  immediately;  and  so 
strong  was  the  impression  of  resistance  which 
her  attitude,  her  firmly-set  lips  and  shining 
eves  conveyed,  that  he  would  not  have  been 
surprised  if  she  had  not  answered  at  all.  But 
presently  she  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  makes 
a  reluctant  concession : 

"Perhaps  it  does  concern  you  to  know  by 


196  MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED 

what  right  I  have  interfered  in  this  matter. 
And  you  must  not  suppose  that  there  is  any 
reason  why  I  should  not  tell  you,  except — " 

"Except  that  you  think  I  am  presumptuous 
in  inquiring?" 

"No.  I  have  admitted  that  I  recognize  your 
right  to  inquire.  You  are,  as  you  have  just 
stated,  a  member  of  the  family,  and  no  doubt  it 
seems  to  you  that  I — " 

With  one  of  the  impulses  which  sometimes 
overtook  him,  and  were  due,  perhaps  to  his 
Celtic  blood,  Desmond  suddenly  extended  his 
hand  and  caught  hers  again  in  a  firm  grasp. 

"You  are  a  member  of  the  family  also!"  he 
asserted.  "I  am  sure  of  it.  And  it  is  plain 
that  you  are  closely  related  to  Harry  War- 
grave.    Won 't  you  tell  me  how  ? ' ' 

The  impetuous  demand  seemed  to  break 
down  the  barriers  of  her  resistance.  With  a 
catch  in  her  voice,  like  a  sob  repressed,  she 
said: 

' '  I  am  his  daughter. ' ' 

"I  knew  it!"  he  exclaimed  almost  exultantly. 
"I  felt  convinced  of  it  as  soon  as  I  heard 
Father  Martin's  story.  And  why  should  you 
have  hesitated  to  acknowledge  it, — why?" 

"Oh!"  (she  wrenched  her  hand  from  the 
clasp  which  this  time  did  not  surrender  it 
willingly,  and  sank  into  a  chair),  "because  I 
would  sooner  die  than  identify  myself  with  a 


MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED  197 

family  which  disowned  himV  she  cried  pas- 
sionately. 

' '  But  I  had  no  part  in  disowning  him, ' '  Des- 
mond reminded  her.  He  drew  up  another  chair 
and  sat  down  before  her.  "I  had  never  even 
heard  his  story  until  after  I  came — until  after 
we  came  to  Kingsf ord,  a  few  weeks  ago.  Then 
I  was  filled  with  the  keenest  sympathy  for  him. 
I  felt  instinctively  that  there  must  have  been  a 
mistake,  and  that  possibly  a  great  wrong  was 
done." 

"You  seem  to  feel  a  great  many  things 
instinctively, ' '  she  said.  "But  those  who 
should  have  felt  that — his  own  father  first  of 
all — did  not  feel  it;  and  so  he  was  cast  out  as 
unworthy  to  belong  to  them, — he,  the  very  soul 
of  honor,  the  finest,  highest — " 

Her  voice  broke,  but  she  bit  her  lip  fiercely, 
and  Desmond  saw  that  she  was  struggling  hard 
to  retain  self-control.  After  an  instant  she 
regained  it  sufficiently  to  go  on  quietly,  almost 
coldly : 

"I  can  not  allow  myself  to  speak  of  these 
things.  I  have  determined  that  I  will  not  do 
so.  It  is  unnerving  and — and  it  serves  no  pur- 
pose. I  came  here  to  make  an  effort  to  find  a 
necessary  clue  to  those  happenings  which 
wrecked  my  father's  life  in  its  beginning.  I 
had  little  or  no  hope  of  success ;  but  I  promised 
myself,  when  I  first  heard  his  story,  that  I 


198  MISS  LAXDOX'S  SECRET  IS  EEVEALED 

would  make  this  effort,  and  I  knew  that  I  could 
never  be  satisfied  until  I  had  made  it — " 

"But  why,"  Desmond  interposed,  "did  you 
come  to  Kingsford,  since  the  events  of  which 
you  speak  happened  elsewhere  1 ' ' 

' '  Because  this  was  his  home, ' '  she  answered ; 
'  *  and  I  thought  that  here  would  probably  be  my 
best  chance  to  obtain  some  knowledge  and  trace 
of  the  man  who  had  ruined  him  by  casting  the 
weight  of  his  own  misdeeds  upon  his  life; 
reckoning,  with  good  reason,  that  in  the  case  of 
Harry  Wargrave  money  would  be  repaid, 
prosecution  waived,  and  the  whole  affair 
hushed  up.  So  I  came,  in  fulfilment  of  a  sacred 
duty  to  the  dead,  but  with  a  hopelessness  like 
despair  in  my  heart ;  and  then — then  the  man  I 
wanted,  and  knew  not  where  to  find,  was  flung 
across  my  path,  broken,  dying — "  She  paused 
and  looked  at  Desmond,  with  her  wide,  sad  gaze 
full  of  wonder.  "It  was  strange,"  she  said  in 
an  awed  tone, — "so  strange  that  one  is  con- 
strained to  think — " 

"That  it  was  due  to  something  more  than 
accident,"  he  finished.  "I  don't  know  whether 
or  not  you  heard  Tracy  tell  me  that,  only  a  few 
minutes  before  the  accident  occurred,  he  had 
left  the  Pullman,  in  which  he  was  traveling,  to 
see  and  talk  with  a  man  in  one  of  the  ordinary 
cars." 

"I  did  not  hear  him  say  so,  but  that  also  was 
strange.    And  you  think — " 


MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED  199 

"I  don't  venture  to  think  anything  except 
that  life  and  death  are  in  God's  hand,  and  that 
even  our  limited  vision  can  perceive  that  a 
great  deal  was  gained  by  this  man's  death.  Of 
course  I  don't  mean  only  from  our  point  of 
view,"  he  added  hastily.  "We  must  suppose 
that  his  soul  would  be  the  first  consideration 
with  the  higher  powers,  and  the  chance  was 
given  him  to  save  it — to  make  the  restitution 
which  was  more  essential  for  him  than  for  us, — 
at  the  same  time  that  much  was  given  to  you 
which  you  could  never  have  gained  for  your- 
self." 

"Very  much,"  she  assented, — "all  that  I 
ever  hoped  for,  in  fact — the  wiping  away  of 
dishonor  from  my  father's  name,  and  the  power 
to  prove  to  the  stern  judge  who  sentenced  him 
to  banishment  and  lifelong  pain  that  he  had 
condemned  an  innocent  man,  and  lost  a  son  who 
would  have  been  the  crown  and  honor  of  his 
life." 

She  restrained  herself  admirably,  but  the 
deepening  tones  of  her  voice  as  she  uttered  the 
last  words  conveyed  to  Desmond's  ear  all  the 
strong  emotion  of  her  soul.  He  leaned  toward 
her. 

"Have  you  heard  the  effect  of  that  knowl- 
edge V '  he  asked.  '  *  Have  you  been  told  what  it 
has  done  to  Judge  Wargrave?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "I  have  been  told.  It 
is  a  just  retribution.    But  I  am  sorry — " 


200  MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED 

"For  him?"  Desmond  queried  a  little 
eagerly,  as  she  broke  off. 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  answered. 
* '  I  could  not  be  sorry  for  him,  whatever  he  suf- 
fered. I  was  about  to  say  that  I  am  sorry  to 
hear  that  his  physical  condition  makes  it  impos- 
sible for  him  to  realize  the  full  meaning  of  what 
he  has  learned." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Still  leaning 
forward,  Desmond  turned  his  gaze  downward, 
and  considered  this  utterance,  while  he 
appeared  to  study  the  pattern  of  the  carpet 
under  his  feet.  When  he  looked  up  presently 
his  face  was  set  in  grave  lines. 

"It  is  very  natural  that  you  should  feel  in 
this  way, ' ?  he  said.  ' '  But  while  you  have  seen 
the  suffering  on  one  side,  have  you  never 
thought  of  the  suffering  on  the  other?  You 
have  let  your  mind  dwell  on  the  stern  judge; 
but  have  you  never  thought  of  the  father 
deprived  of  his  only  son,  with  his  pride  in  him 
turned  to  bitterness,  and  his  affection  denied 
expression?  And  has  it  never  occurred  to  you 
that  it  was,  perhaps,  harder  for  the  father  to 
be  forced  to  act  as  a  judge  than  even  for  the 
son  to  be  condemned  unjustly?"  He  paused; 
but  as  she  did  not  speak — only  sat  back  in  her 
chair,  grasping  its  arms,  while  she  regarded 
him  steadily — after  a  moment  he  went  on.  "I 
think, ' '  he  said,  ' '  that  if  you  saw  him  now,  you 
would  be  quite  sure  how  much  he  has  suffered. 


MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  HEVEALED  201 

And  as  for  the  brevity  of  the  last  stroke — the 
brevity  you  regret, — why,  you  know  we  are  told 
that  sometimes  the  mind  is  able  to  review  the 
events  of  a  whole  lifetime  in  an  instant ;  and  so 
I  think  that  all  the  suffering  of  all  these  long 
years  may  have  been  present  to  him,  and  given 
added  force  to  the  last  sharp  blow  which — 
killed. ' ' 

"He  is  not  dead?"  she  questioned  sharply. 

"It  amounts  to  death,  does  it  not,  when  the 
light  of  the  mind  goes  out?"  he  questioned  in 
turn.  "It  has  gone  out  in  this  case  so  com- 
pletely that  the  doctor  who  has  seen  him  gives 
little  hope  that  it  will  ever  revive  in  any  degree 
again." 

"Perhaps  you  are  aware,"  she  said  after  an 
instant,  "that  Dr.  Glvnn  has  been  here  to  ask 
me  to  take  charge  of  the  case  as  a  nurse.' 

"Yes,"  Desmond  replied.  "I  knew  that  he 
meant  to  come.    What  answer  did  you  give?" 

"Is  it  necessary  to  inquire?  You  must  know 
that  there  was  only  one  answer  possible  from 
me." 

"You  mean  that  you  refused  to  go?" 

"Undoubtedly  I  refused  to  go." 

"Ah!"  Desmond  resumed  his  study  of  the 
carpet  for  a  minute.  Then,  lifting  his  glance  to 
her  again,  "Although  you  have  been  good 
enough  to  refrain  from  saying  so,  I  am  sure 
that  you  have  considered  me  very  presumptu- 
ous several  times  already,"  he  said.    "Well,  I 


202  MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED 

am  going  to  be  still  more  presumptuous  now. 
I  am  going  to  beg  you  to  reconsider  that  refusal 
and  go  to  Hillcrest. ' ' 

She  stared  at  him ;  the  dark  brows  knitted  in 
a  frown  over  her  dilated  eyes. 

i  i  Are  you  mad  1 ' '  she  demanded  in  a  low  tone. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  he  assured  her.  "I  was 
never  more  sane.  For  don't  you  see  what  a 
wonderful  opportunity  this  is  for  you  to  do 
something  so  fine  that  I  believe  the  whole  extra- 
ordinary occurrence  has  been  to  make  it  pos- 
sible !  It  is  an  opportunity  such  as  could  come 
only  once  in  a  life ;  and  if  you  lose  it — but  you 
won't,  you  can't  lose  it! — you  will  never  cease 
in  time,  or  perhaps  in  eternity,  to  regret  it." 

"I  think  you  must  be  mad!"  she  said,  still 
staring  at  him.  "You  certainly  regard  things 
in  the  most  amazing  way.  Now,  what  do  you 
mean  by  saying  that  this  is  an  opportunity  for 
me  to  do  something  so  fine  that  I  shall  never 
cease  to  regret  losing  it?" 

"Don't  tell  me  that  you  do  not  understand 
exactly  what  I  mean,"  he  replied.  "It  is  not 
possible  that  nature  made  you  in  the  mould  it 
has  without  giving  you  the  power  to  appreciate 
the  highest  possibilities  in  human  conduct. 
And  here  is  a  possibility  so  high  that  it  fairly 
dazzles  one.  It  means  that,  representing  the 
man  who  was  unjustly  banished  from  his 
father's  house,  you  can  go  back  to  that  house, 
to  return  benefit  for  injury;  to  give  service  to 


MISS  LANDOX'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED  203 

one  stricken  down  by  the  knowledge  of  his  own 
terrible  mistake;  to  offer — if  you  are  great 
enough  for  that,  and  I  believe  you  are — the  for- 
giveness which  Harry  Wargrave  might  have 
wished  to  offer  the  father  who  indeed  judged 
him  wrongly,  but  to  whose  teaching  and 
example  he  owed  the  qualities  for  which  you 
admired  and  loved  him.  Isn't  this  worth 
doing,  and  aren  't  you  strong  enough  to  do  it ! ' ' 

She  gasped  under  the  appeal  of  his  energy, 
the  flashing  eagerness  of  his  eyes. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  faltered.  "I  have  not 
thought  of  it  like  that." 

"Then  think  of  it  now,"  he  urged.  "It  is,  I 
repeat,  the  opportunity  of  your  life, — the  great 
opportunity  to  do  the  heroic  thing,  which  most 
of  us  spend  our  lives  without  ever  finding,  or 
without  its  finding  us.  And  it  is  woe  to  us, 
isn't  it,  if  when  such  an  opportunity  comes,  we 
can  not  rise  to  it?  But  you  can — you  will, — I'm 
certain  of  that.  For  what  else,  indeed,  have 
you  been  brought  here?  To  hear  of  Tracy's 
confession, — to  clear  your  father's  name? 
Even  those  things  are,  I  believe,  of  secondary 
importance  to  the  great  work  of  charity  which 
calls  you  now.    So  come  to  Hillcrest, — come!" 

But  she  shrank  back  as  if  frightened. 

"It  is  impossible!"  she  declared.  "I  can 
not. ' ' 

"You  can  and  you  must!"  he  returned 
imperatively.     "You    dare    not    refuse    the 


204  MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  EEVEALED 

demand  which  is  made  upon  yon.  For  you 
can't  tell  what  is  meant  by  it.  It  isn't  as  if  you 
had  made,  or  even  sought,  the  opportunity  to 
do  this:  to  enter  your  father's  home,  to  take 
what  is  your  rightful  place — " 

"No,  no!"  The  denial  was  vehement  now. 
"It  is  a  place  I  would  not  take  if  it  were  offered 
me, — I  mean  if  I  were  asked  to  go  in  my  true 
character;  but  to  go  in  a  false  character — " 

"There  is  nothing  false  about  it,"  he  inter- 
rupted. "You  are  a  nurse,  and  the  doctor 
himself  selected  you  and  offered  you  the  case. 
Nothing  is  asked  of  you  except  to  go  just  as 
you  would  go  to  any  other  patient.  No  one  will 
know  who  you  are  unless  you  choose  to  tell — " 

"I  shall  never  choose  to  tell,"  she  said 
proudly. 

"However  that  may  be,"  he  continued,  "the 
point  is,  that,  absolutely  without  your  seeking, 
the  opportunity  of  which  I  have  spoken  is  pre- 
sented to  you.  And,  besides  its  greatest  pos- 
sibilities, it  offers  many  things  which  I  should 
think  would  appeal  to  you  very  strongly.  Here 
is  this  old  man  whose  days  are  so  nearly  num- 
bered, your  father's  father,  your  own  nearest 
relative,  whom  I  take  for  granted  you  have 


never  seen — " 


' l  Of  course  I  have  never  seen  him. ' ' 
"And  would  you  not  like  to  see  him?    No?" 
as  she  shook  her  head.  "But  he  is  worth  seeing, 
I  assure  you;  and  if  you  saw  him  you  would 


MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED  205 

understand  much  that  is  now  dark  to  yon  with 
regard  to  the  mysterious  forces  of  character. 
"Well,  you  must  want  to  see  the  house  in  which 
your  father  was  born,  where  he  grew  to  man- 
hood, where  he  is  loved  and  remembered  still. 
And  you  can  do  all  this  in  the  most  easy  and 
natural  manner.  Oh,"  the  speaker  broke  off 
impatiently,  "why  are  we  wasting  time  in  talk- 
ing, when  it  is  obvious  that  the  thing  is 
ordained,  that  you  have  no  choice — that  you 
must  go ! ' ' 

She  caught  her  breath  sharply. 

"You  put  things  in  a  way  which  seems  to 
make  them  irresistible,' '  she  said.  "And  you 
know  how  to  appeal  to  what  tempts  me 
strongly.  For  I  confess  that  I  have  longed  to 
enter  my  father's  old  home,  to  see  the  rooms  in 
which  he  lived,  the  scenes  he  has  described.  But 
there  appeared  to  be  no  way  of  doing  this  con- 
sistently with  my  own  self-respect.  But  now 
you  show  the  way,  and  I — I — " 

"Will  take  it?" 

"How  can  I  say?  The  higher  demands  you 
have  made — the  higher  way  to  which  you  have 
pointed — I  can  not  meet  them,  or  take  that." 

"Then  let  us  put  those  demands — which,  by 
the  way,  were  not  demands,  but  only  counsels 
of  perfection — aside,"  he  told  her.  "I  haven't 
a  doubt  that  you  will  meet  them ;  but  we  '11  leave 
them  for  the  present—" 

"To  Providence?" 


206  MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED 

"Yes,  to  Providence.  One  is  quite  safe  in 
leaving  them  there.    And  you'll  come!" 

His  tone  was  eagerly  insistent,  but  she  hesi- 
tated still.    At  length  she  said  slowly : 

"If — if  I  think  of  it,  will  you  promise 
solemnly  to  tell  no  one  who  I  am  f  It  is  only  on 
that  condition  I  would  take  the  matter  into 
consideration." 

"Don't  take  it  into  consideration ! ' '  he  urged. 
"Decide  at  once."  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
involuntarily  she  rose  also.  ' i  Go  and  telephone 
Dr.  Glynn  immediately.  Tell  him  that  you  have 
reconsidered  your  decision,  and  that  you  will 
go  to  Hillcrest  as  a  nurse." 

"And  if  I  do,  will  you  promise  to  keep  the 
secret  of  my  identity?"  she  repeated. 

As  they  stood  face  to  face,  glance  meeting 
glance,  he  understood  clearly  that,  unless  he 
gave  the  pledge  required  of  him,  she  would  not 
go;  and  all  his  ardent  soul  was  set  upon  her 
going. 

"Yes,  I  promise  on  my  honor  to  hold  the 
secret  as  long  as  you  desire  me  to  do  so,"  he 
answered.    "But  I  hope — " 

She  cut  short  his  words. 

"Hope  only  that  neither  of  us  may  regret 
this,"  she  said.  "You  have  overborne  my 
decision,  and  by  your  appeals  induced  me  to 
consent  to  something  which  it  is  quite  possible 
I  shall  regret.    But  the  die  is  cast.    I  will  go. ' ' 


MISS  LANDON'S  SECRET  IS  REVEALED  207 

"I  do  not  believe  that  you  will  ever  regret 
it,"  lie  assured  her  earnestly.  "I  believe  that 
you  will  one  day  thank  me  for  forcing  your 
decision,  as  I  now  thank  you  for  listening  to  and 
heeding  my  appeals." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MISS  LANDON  ACTS  AS  JUDGE  WAEGEAVE  'S  NUESE 

"The  nurse  has  arrived,' '  Mrs.  Creighton 
announced  at  lunch  a  few  hours  later;  "and  I 
am  very  much  pleased  with  her  appearance. ' ' 

Edith  looked  up  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"How  does  her  appearance  possibly  mat- 
ter f '  '  she  asked.  ' '  They  strike  me  as  machines, 
these  trained  nurses,  who  all  do  exactly  the 
same  things  in  exactly  the  same  way,  and  who 
look  so  much  alike  that  it  is  difficult  to  differ- 
entiate them.,, 

' '  Oh,  my  dear,  you  are  mistaken  about  that ! ' ' 
observed  Mrs.  Selwyn,  who  had  made  her 
appearance  at  Hillcrest  as  soon  as  the  news  of 
Judge  Wargrave's  stroke  reached  Kingsford; 
and  who,  in  fulfilment  of  the  duty  of  a  near 
relative,  was  spending  the  day,  and  incidentally 
worrying  Mrs.  Creighton  with  many  sugges- 
tions drawn  from  a  long  semi-invalid  experi- 
ence. There  were  people  ill-natured  enough  to 
say  that  it  was  because  Mrs.  Selwyn  had 
absolutely  nothing  to  do,  plenty  of  money,  and 
a  rather  empty  mind,  that  she  devoted  so  much 
time  and  attention  to  her  various  bodily  ail- 

208 


MISS  LANDON  ACTS  AS  NURSE         209 

ments,  and  was  understood  to  have  spent  a 
small  fortune  on  their  treatment.  But,  however 
this  might  be,  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  exten- 
sive nature  of  the  experience,  from  the  vantage 
ground  of  which  she  now  went  on :  ' '  I  have  had 
so  many  nurses  in  attendance  on  me,  you  know ; 
and  I  can  assure  you  that  there's  the  greatest 
possible  difference  in  them." 

"I  should  rather  think  so,"  her  son,  who  was 
also  present,  chimed  in  emphatically.  '  *  There 's 
all  the  difference  in  the  world.  Some  are  young 
and  pretty,  and  not  at  all  averse  to  a  little  flirta- 
tion ;  while  others  are  as  prim  as  you  please,  or 
as  grim  as  dragons.  The  mater  has  had  an 
interesting  assortment  of  them  about  her,  as 
she  says;  and  I  know  almost  as  much  about 
them  as  if  I  had  been  trained  in  a  hospital 
myself.  There  was  that  pretty  little  Miss 
Archer,  mother,  you  know — " 

"I  know  that  you  distracted  her  attention 
and  turned  her  head  to  such  a  degree  that  I  had 
to  get  rid  of  her,"  Mrs.  Selwyn  cut  him  short 
very  dryly.  "But  I  have  had  some  admirable 
nurses,  and  I  hope  that  one  of  that  kind  has 
been  secured  for  dear  Cousin  George." 

"Laurence  can  tell  you;  he  knows  her,"  the 
irrepressible  Bobby  observed,  with  a  nod 
toward  his  cousin. 

Mrs.  Selwyn  glanced  at  the  latter  a  little 
curiously,  and  asked, 

"How  does  that  come  about?" 


210  MISS  LANDON  ACTS 

Desmond,  conscious  of  a  sense  of  restraint 
which  he  hoped  did  not  appear  in  his  manner, 
explained  how  he  had  been  thrown  with  the 
nnrse  in  question  at  the  time  of  the  railway 
wreck,  in  which  she  had  done  such  good  service. 

"So  that's  who  she  is — the  heroine  of  the 
wreck,  as  the  newspapers  called  her !"  Mrs.  Sel- 
wyn  said,  with  much  interest.  "Why,  Rachel, 
I  congratulate  you  on  getting  her." 

"It  was  Dr.  Glynn  who  got  her,"  Mrs. 
Creighton  replied.  "When  he  proposed  a 
nurse — you  know  how  doctors  are  these  days : 
they  always  want  a  trained  nurse,  even  when 
there  isn't  the  least  need  for  anything  of  the 
kind—  " 

"But  there's  always  need,"  Mrs.  Selwyn 
interrupted  in  the  tone  of  one  who  knows.  "No 
uninstructed  person  can  possibly  take  care  of  a 
case  as  a  trained  nurse  can. ' ' 

"I'm  old-fashioned,  I  suppose,"  Mrs. 
Creighton  acknowledged;  "but  I  think  that 
those  who  are  nearest  the  patient  can  often  take 
better  care,  even  if  it  isn't  quite  so  scientific. 
But  what  I  was  going  to  say  is,  that  of  course 
when  Dr.  Glynn  proposed  a  nurse,  I  told  him  to 
send  whom  he  pleased,  and  he  has  sent  Miss — 


er— " 


"Landon,"  said  Desmond,  at  whom  she 
looked  interrogatively. 

"Yes,  Miss  Landon.  I  confess  I  dreaded  her 
coming.     We  have  never  had  a  nurse  in  the 


AS  JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  NURSE    211 

house,  and  IVe  seen  how  dictatorial  they  can 
sometimes  be.  Why,  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Somer- 
ville,  the  nurse  positively  would  not  allow  the 
members  of  the  family  to  enter  her  room, 
except  occasionally,  one  at  a  time,  and  then  only 
for  a  minute  or  two — " 

"But  that  was  a  desperate  case  of  typhoid, 
my  dear,"  Mrs.  Selwyn  broke  in  again;  "and 
the  nurse  acted  by  the  doctor's  orders." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Creighton,  with  rising 
color,  "I  don't  want  any  nurse,  or  doctor  either, 
ordering  me  out  of  a  sick  room  where  I  have  a 
right  to  be.  And  I  can  tell  you,"  she  added 
with  a  smile,  "who  feels  just  as  I  do  about  the 
matter,  and  that  is  Virgil." 

"Virgil!  Oh,  of  course!"  Bobby  laughed. 
"He's  been  the  Judge's  body-servant  so  long 
that  he'll  naturally  resent  any  trained  nurse 
coming  to  instruct  him  what  to  do. ' ' 

"I  had  to  be  very  diplomatic  in  telling  him 
that  she  was  coming, ' '  Mrs.  Creighton  went  on ; 
' '  and  I  saw  that  the  idea  of  being  superseded  in 
any  way  hurt  him  so  much  that  I  said  a  word 
or  two  to  the  nurse  before  she  went  in  to  the 
room.  'He's  an  old  and  faithful  servant,'  I 
told  her ;  '  and  if  you  can  spare  his  feelings,  and 
let  him  still  do  as  much  as  possible  for  his 
master,  I  shall  be  glad. '  ' ' 

"And  she  took  it  well?"  Bobby  queried. 
"Many  nurses  wouldn't.  I've  had  them  look 
at  me  in  the  most  superior  manner  when  I 


212  MISS  LANDON  ACTS 

ventured  to  make  any  suggestion,  and  intimate 
loftily  that  they  knew  their  own  business.' ' 

"She  took  it  very  nicely  indeed,' '  Mrs. 
Creighton  replied.  "In  fact,  she  seemed  sym- 
pathetic. '  Faithful  service  is  too  rare  a  thing 
to  slight,'  she  said.  'I  promise  you  that  I  will 
spare  his  feelings  in  every  possible  way.'  And 
when  I  took  her  into  my  brother's  room,  she 
spoke  to  Virgil  in — well,  really  in  a  charming 
manner.  'I  have  come  to  help  you  take  care  of 
your  master,'  she  told  him;  and  it  wasn't  the 
words  so  much  as  the  tone  that  seemed  to  set 
all  fear  of  friction  at  rest. ' ' 

"Where  have  you  put  her?"  Edith  inquired 
a  little  abruptly. 

Mrs.  Creighton  appeared  to  hesitate  for  an 
instant,  and  then  she  said : 

"Lhave  put  her  in  the  unoccupied  chamber 
of  the  wing.    It  seemed  the  best  place. ' ' 

Desmond  was  conscious  of  a  thrill  of  sur- 
prise, which  ran  around  the  table. 

"In  Cousin  Maria's  room?"  Mrs.  Selwyn 
gasped  slightly.  "But  I  thought  that  nobody 
has  ever — " 

"Occupied  it  since  she  died?"  Mrs.  Creigh- 
ton finished  the  arrested  sentence.  "That  is 
quite  true.  There  has  never  been  a  reason  why 
any  one  should.  We  have  chambers  enough  for 
ordinary  use,  and  my  brother  would  not  have 
allowed  any  one  to  be  put  so  close  to  him  as 
long  as  he  was  in  his  usual  health.     But  now 


AS  JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  XURSE    213 

yon  can  see  that  the  closeness  to  his  chamber, 
and  the  isolation  of  the  suite  from  the  rest  of 
the  house,  make  it  the  best  place  for  the  nurse 
to  be." 

"Yes,  it's  clearly  the  best  place,"  Mrs.  Sel- 
wyn  agreed.  "But  will  Cousin  George  like  it, 
if  he  recovers  enough  to — er — know  any- 
thing?" 

Mrs.  Creighton  shook  her  head,  while  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"I  fear  we  need  scarcely  take  that  into  con- 
sideration," she  said.  "But  if  he  should 
recover  enough  to  know,  I  am  sure  he  would 
understand  why  I  made  the  arrangement.  One 
could  always  rely  on  his  reasonableness." 
Then  she  glanced  around  the  table  and  gave  the 
movement  to  rise. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Desmond  waylaid  her 
in  the  hall,  and,  with  some  hesitation,  inquired 
what  arrangements  had  been  made  about  Miss 
Landon's  lunch. 

"I  asked  her  to  join  us,"  Mrs.  Creighton  told 
him;  "but  she  declined.  She  had  lunched  in 
Kingsford,  she  said;  and  then  she  inquired  if 
her  meals  could  not  be  served  in  the  sitting- 
room  of  the  suite  where  she  is.  'I  should  much 
prefer  this,  if  it  does  not  give  too  much  trouble, ' 
she  added.  Of  course  I  assured  her  that  it 
would  give  no  trouble  at  all.  And  I  was  very 
glad  that  she  suggested  it  herself;  for  I  hesi- 


214  MISS  LANDON  ACTS 

tated  to  make  the  suggestion,  and  yet  it  is  much 
the  best — indeed,  the  proper  thing.' ' 

"Why  should  it  be  the  proper  thing !"  Des- 
mond asked  a  little  sharply.  He  had  a  sense  of 
growing  hot,  and  involuntarily  he  lifted  his 
eyes  to  the  Wargrave  portraits  hanging  on  the 
walls.  It  occurred  to  him  to  wonder  what  those 
whom  they  represented  would  think  of  their 
direct  descendant,  the  daughter  of  the  rightful 
heir  of  the  old  house,  being  served  with  her 
food  apart,  like  an  inferior. 

Meanwhile  his  aunt  glanced  at  him  with 
surprise. 

"Surely  that  is  obvious/'  she  replied.  "It 
is  always  more  or  less  disagreeable  to  have  at 
one's  table  a  person  who  is  neither  a  member  of 
the  household  nor  an  invited  guest;  and, 
although  many  nurses  are  ladies  in  birth  and 
breeding — " 

"Miss  Landon  is  a  lady,  I  assure  you,"  Des- 
mond could  not  refrain  from  interposing. 

"It  is  easy  to  believe  that,"  Mrs.  Creighton 
assented,  though  the  surprise  of  her  tone 
became  slightly  accentuated.  "I  was  very 
much  struck  with  her  appearance.  There's  an 
unusual  air  of  refinement — one  might  almost 
say  distinction — about  her;  but,  nevertheless, 
she  is  a  stranger,  who  comes  to  the  house 
merely  in  a  professional  capacity.  And  if  she 
prefers  to  keep  strictly  within  her  place  and 


AS  JUDGE  WAEGRAVFS  NURSE         215 

duties,  I  consider  it  a  proof  of  good  sense  on 
her  part." 

Unable  to  contradict  this,  which  seemed  also 
obvious,  Desmond  said  nothing.  But  he  still 
gazed  at  the  portraits  on  the  wall;  and  the 
thought  still  in  his  mind  was,  what  would  they 
say  if  they  knew?  Then  he  started,  for  his  aunt 
was  speaking  again : 

"There's  a  look  about  the  girl  which  strongly 
recalls  some  one  whom  I  have  known,"  she  was 
saying  reflectively.  "I  can't  think  who  it  is  she 
resembles  so  much,  unless — Oh!"  She  broke 
off  abruptly,  and  stood  silent  for  a  minute, 
staring  at  Desmond,  who  quickly  lowered  his 
gaze  from  the  portraits  and  stared,  a  trifle 
apprehensively,  at  her.  "How  very  strange!" 
she  murmured  presently,  as  if  to  herself. 

"What  is  strange?"  he  inquired;  and,  from 
hot,  he  now  found  himself  turning  cold.  He 
was  afraid  of  what  might  come  next, — what 
question  might  be  asked  him. 

But  Mrs.  Creighton  seemed  absorbed  in  the 
consideration  of  her  discovery. 

"I  have  suddenly  thought  who  it  is  she 
resembles  so  strikingly,"  she  said.  "It  is  my 
sister-in-law,  my  brother's  wife;  and  it's  surely 
an  odd  coincidence  that  she  should  come  here  to 
nurse  him,  and  be  the  first  person  to  occupy  her 
room  since  she  died. ' ' 

"It  is  odd,"  Desmond  agreed,  while  wonder- 
ing what  she  would  say  if  she  knew  exactly  how 


216  MISS  LANDOX  ACTS 

odd  it  was.     "But  are  you  quite  sure — about 
the  likeness  V9  he  added. 

"I'm  perfectly  sure,"  Mrs.  Creighton  re- 
plied. "As  soon  as  I  saw  her  I  knew  that  she 
reminded  me  of  some  one  I  had  seen  before; 
but  I  couldn't  place  the  resemblance — you  know 
how  elusive  those  things  are, — but  now  I  see  it 
clearly.  She  has  Maria's  features,  and  the 
eyes — well,  the  eyes  are  simply  marvellously 
like  hers.  I — I  feel  as  if  it  were  almost  un- 
canny, as  the  Scotch  say.  It's  as  if  Maria 
herself  had  come  back  to  nurse  your  uncle. ' ' 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Desmond. 

"Do  you  think  he  will  see  the  likeness,  if  he 
ever  regains  consciousness?" 

"I  don't  believe  he  could  help  seeing  it," 
Mrs.  Creighton  answered.  "I  am  quite  sure 
that  Virgil  saw  it,  he  stared  at  her  so 
curiously. ' ' 

"And  what  effect  do  you  think  it  would  have 
on  my  uncle  I ' ' 

"Oh,  I  can't  tell!"  She  looked  at  him  help- 
lessly. i '  But  you  know  the  doctor  doesn  't  think 
he  will  ever  regain  consciousness ;  or,  if  he  does, 
that  he  will  ever  really  be  himself  again. ' ' 

"Doctors  don't  know  everything,"  Desmond 
stated  incontrovertibly.  "My  own  opinion  is 
that  as  he  rallied  before  in  the  most  surprising 
manner,  so  he  will  rally  again,  though  perhaps 
in  less  degree.     But  you  had  better  ask  Dr. 


AS  JUDGE  WAEGBAVE'S  NURSE    217 

Grlynn  what  effect  the  perception  of  such  a  like- 
ness would  probably  have  on  him." 

"I  will.  I'll  ask  him  as  soon  as  he  comes. 
But  I  shall  not  speak  of  it  to  any  one  else.  I'm 
a  little  curious  to  find  if  Elizabeth  Selwyn  will 
notice  it. ' ' 

' '  Has  she  seen  my  uncle  since  she  came  ? ' ' 

"Not  yet.  But  she  will  expect  to  see  him 
before  she  goes ;  and  she  is  such  a  near  relative 
that  I  can't  refuse  to  take  her  to  his  room  for  a 
few  minutes.  Then  she  will  see  the  nurse  also." 

"And  she  will  be  certain  to  notice  her  criti- 
cally, for  she  seems  to  take  a  fascinated  interest 
in  everything  that  relates  to  sickness — " 

"She  is  a  perfect  hypochondriac,"  Mrs. 
Creighton  observed,  in  the  unfeeling  fashion  of 
many  relatives  of  these  habitual  invalids  whose 
ailments  are  somewhat  invisible  to  the  ordinarv 
eye.  "Yes,  she  will  certainly  notice  her;  and  if 
she  sees  the  resemblance — " 

"Why,  then  we'll  conclude  that  it  must  be 
very  striking,"  Desmond  said.  "You  won't 
bring  her  up  immediately,  I  imagine  1 ' ' 

' '  Oh,  no,  not  until  she  is  ready  to  go !  And 
Heaven  only  knows"  (with  a  wTeary  sigh) 
' '  when  that  will  be ! " 

"If  it  rests  with  Bobby,  it  will  be  soon,  I 
think.  I  heard  him  ask  her  if  she  was  going 
into  Kingsford  with  him,  and  she  said  'Yes.'  " 

"Bobby!"  Mrs.  Creighton  glanced  with  a 
rather  vexed  air  through  the  open  hall  door. 


218  MISS  LANDOX  ACTS 

" Don't  you  see  him  out  yonder  on  the  terrace 
with  Edith?  When  he  is  with  her  he  knows 
nothing  of  the  lapse  of  time. ' ' 

"Edith  knows,  however,"  Desmond  laughed; 
"and  you  may  trust  her  to  bring  him  in  soon. 
Now,  if  you've  no  objection,  I  will  go  up  and 
see  how  my  uncle  is." 

His  aunt  made  no  objection,  but  she  looked 
intently  after  the  agile  figure  as  it  mounted  the 
staircase.  The  thought  came  to  her  that  very 
soon — no  one  could  tell  how  soon — this  young 
man  would  be  the  master  and  owner  of  the  old 
house  of  her  fathers ;  and,  conscious  as  she  was 
of  his  pleasant  qualities,  she  was  just  now  still 
more  conscious  that  he  was  essentially  a 
stranger.  "What  do  we  really  know  of  him!" 
she  said  to  herself ;  and  then,  with  another  sigh, 
she  went  to  rejoin  her  waiting  guest. 

Desmond  meanwhile  took  his  way  upward, 
around  the  gallery,  and  into  the  corridor  of  the 
wing  containing  his  uncle's  apartments.  As  he 
entered  the  last,  his  pace  involuntarily  slack- 
ened, until  he  found  himself  standing  still 
before  a  door  he  had  never  entered, — the  door 
of  a  chamber  which  had  never  been  occupied 
since  Judge  Wargrave's  wife,  Harry  War- 
grave's  mother,  was  borne  out  of  it  dead.  The 
overwhelming  strangeness  of  the  events  which 
had  brought  the  daughter  of  the  banished  son 
back  to  occupy  that  room,  seemed  to  clutch  him 
like  a  hand  out  of  the  unseen  world.    He  won- 


AS  JUDGE  WAEGRAVE'S  XURSE    219 

dered  how  much  the  dead  mother  and  son  knew 
of  what  was  going  on  in  this  their  earthly 
home;  and  when  the  door  at  which  he  was 
gazing  suddenly  and  softly  swung  open,  he 
would  not  have  been  surprised  if  their  figures 
had  appeared. 

But,  instead,  it  was  a  figure  with  which  he 
felt  himself  already  familiar — Hester  Landon 
in  her  nurse's  dress.  She  paused  abruptly  at 
sight  of  the  young  man  standing  so  motionless 
before  the  door ;  and,  as  their  glances  met,  each 
was  conscious  that  words  were  altogether  in- 
adequate to  express  their  poignant  sense  of  the 
situation.    It  was  Hester  who  presently  spoke. 

"Well,  here  I  am,  you  see,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  see,"  he  answered — and  could  say  no 
more.  What  more,  indeed,  was  there  to  say? 
For  at  this  instant  he  felt  that  to  see  was 
enough, — to  take  in  through  the  eyes  all  the 
charm  of  the  cool,  gracious,  healing  presence. 
The  pause  lasted  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
made  a  gesture  of  her  hand  toward  the  room 
she  had  left. 

"Do  you  know  where  I  am  lodged?"  she 
asked. 

i '  Yes, ' '  he  answered  again.    * '  I  have  heard. ' ' 

"Had  you  anything  to  do  with  ordering  or 
suggesting  it  f ' ' 

"Nothing, — absolutely  nothing,"  said  Des- 
mond. "It  is  part  of  the  mysterious  strange- 
ness of  the  whole  thing. ' ' 


220  MISS  LAXDON  ACTS 

"I  don't  think  you  can  imagine  how 
mysteriously  strange  it  seemed  to  me  when  I 
was  led,  without  knowing  anything  about  where 
I  was  going,  into  a  room  where  my  father's 
picture  was  the  first  object  on  which  my  eyes 
fell — as  if  he  were  welcoming  me ! — and  where 
everything  else  seemed  as  familiar  as  if  I  had 
known  it  in  another  existence.  For  I  had  heard 
him  describe  it  so  often — his  mother's 
chamber. ' ' 

' 'You  could  have  knocked  me  down  with  a 
feather  when  I  heard  my  aunt  announce  that 
she  had  put  you  there,"  Desmond  said.  "And 
yet  one  sees  how  naturally  it  came  about.  It  is 
the  convenient,  one  might  say  the  inevitable, 
place  for  you  to  be.  But  that  doesn't  make  it 
less  strange  that  you  are  the  first  person  to 
occupy  the  room  since  she — your  grandmother 
— went  out  of  it."  He  looked  at  her  with  a 
sudden  gleam  in  his  eyes.  "It's  as  if,  despite 
yourself,  you  had  come  home  and  taken  your 
rightful  place,"  he  said. 

"Don't  talk  in  that  way,"  she  answered  a 
little  coldly,  "or  you  will  make  me  regret  that 
I  have  come.  And — and,  as  it  is,  I  am  glad  to 
be  here ! ' ' 

"I  knew  you  would  be  glad,"  he  said.  "But 
I  must  tell  you  that  my  aunt  is  very  much 
struck  by  your  resemblance  to  your  grand- 
mother. ' ' 


AS  JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  NURSE    221 

She  fell  back  against  the  doorway  by  which 
she  stood. 

"No?"  she  gasped,  extremely  startled. 

He  nodded  emphatically. 

"Yes.  She  says  it  almost  seems  as  if  his  wife 
had  come  back  to  nurse  my  uncle. ' ' 

The  startled  expression  deepened  on  Hester 
Landon's  face,  as  she  still  leaned  back,  looking 
at  him  with  wide  eyes. 

' '  I  never  thought  of  that, ' '  she  said  in  a  low 
voice ;  ' '  and  yet  I  should  have  done  so,  for  my 
father  often  told  me  how  much  I  looked  like  his 
mother.  It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  him.  But 
now — do  you  think  she  suspects  who  I  am?" 

"Oh,  no!  I'm  sure  she  doesn't.  The  idea 
hasn't  even  remotely  occurred  to  her.  But  she 
is  a  little  doubtful  how  the  resemblance  will 
affect  mv  uncle." 

"Yes."  It  was  the  nurse  now,  who  spoke 
quickly.  "Of  course  that  must  be  considered. 
Will  she  consult  the  doctor  about  it  ? " 

"She  has  promised  to  do  so  as  soon  as  he 
comes.  But  I  fancy  the  doctor  will  say  that 
there's  little  hope  of  his  ever  again  being  in  a 
condition  to  recognize  a  likeness." 

"Nevertheless,  any  possible  danger  should  be 
guarded  against,"  she  said  firmly.  "I  will 
speak  to  Dr.  Glynn  myself,  and  if  he  thinks 
best,  will  get  him  to  send  another  nurse  to  take 
my  place." 

Desmond  was  now  startled. 


222  MISS  LANDON  ACTS 

"Ok,  don't  do  that!"  lie  exclaimed.  "I'm 
sure  the  matter  is  not  so  serious.  At  all  events, 
let  the  doctor  decide. ' ' 

"The  doctor  does  not  know  all  the  circum- 
stances," she  reminded  him.  "It's  not  as  if  it 
were  merely  a  chance  resemblance.  We  know 
that  it  is  more ;  and  he,  if  he  ever  regains  con- 
sciousness, may  feel  it." 

"Let  us  at  least  wait  until  there  is  danger — 
I  should  say  hope — of  his  regaining  conscious- 
ness," Desmond  urged.  "It  would  be  intol- 
erable if  you  had  been  brought  here  in  this 
extraordinary  manner  only  to  turn  around  and 
go  away  at  once. ' ' 

i  i  I  had  better  go  away  than  to  be  a  source  of 
danger,  had  I  not?" 

"  It  is  absolutely  impossible  that  you  could  be 
a  source  of  danger,"  he  declared.  "I'm  as 
certain  as — as  that  I  exist  that  you  have  been 
brought  here  for  a  purpose  which  is  not  yet 
accomplished. ' ' 

"And  what  do  you  take  that  purpose  to  be?" 
she  asked. 

"I  can't  tell,"  he  replied.  "I  don't  mean 
any  irreverence  when  I  say  that  I  am  not  in  the 
confidence  of  Providence.  But  I'm  quite  sure 
that  it  is  Providence  which  has  brought  you 
here,  and  which  has  something  for  you  to  do 
that  neither  you  nor  I  can  yet  clearly  perceive. ' ' 

She  regarded  him  suspiciously. 

"I  only  hope,"  she  said,  "that  you  will  not 


AS  JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  NURSE        223 

attempt  to  interpret  or  assist  the  designs  of 
Proividence  in  any  way. ' ' 

"You  need  have  no  fear  of  that,"  he  told  her. 
' '  My  promise  binds  me  to  inaction.  Yet  I  may 
be  permitted  to  feel  satisfaction  in  your  pres- 
ence, and  interest,  deep  interest,  in  what  may 
result — " 

"Nothing  will  result,"  she  interrupted, 
"beyond  what  you  see:  a  nurse  fulfilling  ordi- 
nary duties.  Which  reminds  me  that  I  am  not 
fulfilling  them  at  present.  I  was  on  my  way  to 
my — patient  when  I  ran  upon  you,  standing  and 
staring  like  a  statue  at  my  door." 

"I  was  thinking,"  he  explained,  "how 
strange  it  was  that  it  should  be  your  door.  But 
if  you  are  going  to  your  patient,  may  I  go  with 
you?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  answered.  "No  one  can 
disturb  him,  you  know. "  She  moved  across  the 
corridor;  and  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
opposite  door,  she  turned  and  looked  again  at 
Desmond.  "This,  too,  is  strange,"  she  said, — 
'  *  that  I  should  have  the  right  to  enter  here. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  JUDGE  EECOGNIZES  THE  LIKENESS 

It  would  have  been  difficult  for  Desmond  to 
give,  even  to  himself,  a  coherent  account  of  the 
feelings  with  which  he  followed  the  girl  whom 
he  knew  as  Hester  Landon  into  his  uncle's 
chamber.  He  would  probably  have  described 
his  condition  as  one  of  mental  chaos,  so  fast  did 
one  thought  follow  and  displace  another,  so 
incapable  did  he  find  himself  of  realizing  the 
situation  he  had  helped  to  bring  about.  It  was 
with  a  sense  of  almost  incredulous  amazement 
that  he  regarded  the  figure  which  preceded  him 
into  the  room.  Harry  Wargrave's  daughter! 
Was  he  dreaming?    It  seemed  that  he  must  be. 

But  when,  having  crossed  the  floor,  he  paused 
by  the  great,  carved  mahogany  bed,  and  looked 
down  at  the  motionless  form  extended  upon  it, 
he  was  conscious  of  one  controlling  thought 
which  brought  all  other  thoughts  into  the 
coherence  of  order — an  intense  conviction  that 
something  more  than  chance  had  governed  the 
events  which  led  to  this  conclusion;  which 
brought  the  nurse,  in  her  garb  of  service,  to  the 
side  of  the  grandfather  who  had  never  seen 

224 


THE  JUDGE  RECOGNIZES   LIKENESS     225 

her ;  who,  having  spent  his  life  in  administering 
and  worshipping  justice,  was  now  struck  down 
by  the  crushing  revelation  of  his  own  injustice 
toward  his  only  son.  The  young  man  glanced 
across  to  where  she  stood,  this  girl  so  strangely 
led  to  her  father's  home.  With  her  arm  around 
one  of  the  carved  bedposts,  she  was  gazing 
steadily  at  the  figure  lying  before  them, — the 
face  with  its  clear-cut  features,  set  like  sculp- 
tured marble;  and  the  long,  thin,  scholarly 
hands  folded  on  the  breast.  He  wondered  what 
she  was  thinking;  and,  as  he  wondered,  she 
spoke,  very  quietly : 

1 '  What  a  noble  face  it  is !  I  am  glad  to  have 
seen  it." 

"I  knew  that  you  would  be,"  Desmond 
answered.  He  glanced  around  quickly  to  see  if 
Virgil,  who  had  been  in  the  room  when  they 
entered,  was  still  present;  but  Virgil,  whose 
feelings  were  not  yet  placated  toward  the 
invader  of  his  domain,  had  noiselessly  with- 
drawn. So  he  was  able  to  go  on,  a  little 
eagerly:  " Don't  you  feel,  in  looking  at  this 
face,  that  whatever  error  he  committed  was 
through  the  very  excess  of  his  great  qualities?" 

"  My  father  used  to  say  something  of  the 
kind,"  she  replied  slowly.  "He  always  ad- 
mired, understood,  and — yes,  forgave.  You 
were  right  in  divining  that.  But  I — ah,  let  us 
not  talk  of  it  here!  It  does  not  seem  right, 
though  he  knows  nothing  of  what  we  say. ' ' 


226  THE  JUDGE  RECOGNIZES 

Nothing  indeed;  there  could  be  no  doubt  of 
that.  But  for  the  regular  breathing,  he  might 
have  appeared  dead,  so  entirely  was  the  soul  a 
helpless  captive  in  a  body  which,  like  a  broken 
instrument,  refused  to  do  its  work, — to  express 
either  thought  or  feeling.  And,  regarding  this 
immovable  repose,  it  was  easy  to  believe  that 
it  might  pass  into  the  deeper  repose  of  death, 
without  even  a  glimmer  of  renewed  conscious- 
ness. 

But  if  such  consciousness  should  come !  Des- 
mond suddenly  threw  back  his  head  and  looked 
up  at  a  picture  which  hung  over  the  bed,  where 
the  eyes  of  the  occupant  must  open  immediately 
upon  it.  It  was  a  very  charming  picture, — the 
extremely  well-painted  portrait  of  a  girl  in  her 
bridal  dress.  All  in  white,  with  the  fleecy  veil 
swept  back  from  her  face,  and  her  soft  hair 
crowned  with  orange  blossoms,  she  stood, 
three-quarter  length,  so  that  the  slim  grace  of 
her  young  figure  showed,  looking  out  of  the 
canvas  with  lucid,  smiling  eyes, — eyes  so  per- 
fectly reproduced  in  another  face  that  he  was 
not  surprised  Mrs.  Creighton  had  recognized 
them  at  once.  He  might  have  wondered  that  he 
had  not  recognized  them  himself,  but  for  the 
fact  that  since  his  boyhood  he  had  not  seen  this 
portrait  until  to-day.  But  now — as  his  gaze 
dropped  from  the  canvas  to  the  girl  standing 
beneath  it,  all  in  white  also,  with  the  same  out- 
line of  feature,  the  same  slender  grace  of  form 


THE  LIKENESS  227 

— lie  involuntarily  uttered  an  exclamation 
which  made  her  glance  at  him  quickly.  He 
pointed  to  the  picture  over  her  head. 

"Have  you  observed  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  observed  it  as  soon  as  I  came  into  the 
room,"  she  answered,  "and  recognized  it 
immediately.  For  I  have  often  heard  my  father 
speak  of  that  also,  and  say — " 

' '  How  much  you  are  like  it ! ' ' 

"Yes.    Do  you  perceive  the  likeness?" 

"A  blind  man  might  perceive  it,"  he  told  her, 
with  a  touch  of  pardonable  exaggeration.  i '  You 
spoke  a  little  while  ago  of  your  right  to  be  here. 
You  carry  the  right  in  your  face. ' ' 

She  shook  her  head,  lifting  it  with  an  air  of 
pride,  as,  Desmond  felt  instinctively,  the  gentle, 
smiling  girl  of  the  portrait  never  would  have 
lifted  hers.  Clearly  there  was  a  harder  strain, 
whether  from  nature  or  training,  in  this  other 
girl,  to  whom  she  had  handed  down  her  features 
and  her  eyes. 

"I  found  no  right  whatever  on  that,"  she 
said  coldly.  "I  am  only  sorry  that  I  did  not 
realize  sooner  how  strong  the  resemblance  is, 
and  I  would  not  have  come.  Now  I  am  sure 
that  it  will  be  well  for  me  to  go  as  soon  as 
possible." 

Desmond  turned  his  eyes  to  the  insensible 
face  lying  on  the  white  pillows  before  them. 

"The  only  possible  reason  for  your  going," 
he  said, ' '  would  be  a  fear  of  harming  him.    But, 


228  THE  JUDGE  RECOGNIZES 

since  I  see  him,  I  do  not  think  that  anything  will 
ever  again  have  power  to  harm  Mm;  I  don't 
believe  that  he  will  ever  regain  consciousness. ' ' 

"It  is  by  no  means  certain  that  he  will  not, ' ' 
she  said.  "I  have  seen  cases  like  this,  where 
consciousness  returned  very  unexpectedly. 
When  Dr.  Glynn  comes — " 

She  paused  abruptly,  for  at  this  moment 
steps  and  voices  were  heard  in  the  corridor 
outside.  The  door  of  the  chamber  opened,  and 
Mrs.  Creighton,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Selwyn, 
entered. 

"Ah,  Laurence,  you  are  here  still!"  the 
former  said,  in  discreetly  lowered  tones,  as  they 
approached  the  bed.  "We  have  come  to  see 
how  my  poor  brother  is.  I  suppose  there  is  no 
change  in  his  condition,  Miss  Landon?" 

"None  at  all  since  you  saw  him  last." 

"One  can  hardly  hope  for  any — yet,"  Mrs. 
Creighton  said,  with  a  sigh.  "But  my  cousin, 
Mrs.  Selwyn,  did  not  wish  to  leave  without 
seeing  him.  This  is  Miss  Landon,  the  nurse 
who  has  taken  charge  of  the  case,  Cousin 
Elizabeth." 

Mrs.  Selwyn,  whose  attention  since  she 
entered  the  room  had  been  absorbed  by  the 
sight  of  Judge  Wargrave,  and  who  was  now 
regarding  him  with  sorrowful  intentness, 
looked  up  at  these  words.  Desmond,  watching 
her  closely,  saw  her  eyes  suddenly  expand  when 
they  fell   on  the   nurse.    She   stared   for   an 


THE  LIKENESS  229 

instant,  and  then,  extending  her  hand,  grasped 
Mrs.  Creighton 's  arm. 

"  Rachel!"  she  exclaimed,  "  don't  you 
observe — it's  the  most  astonishing  thing  I  ever 
saw! — how  much  Miss  Landon  resembles 
Cousin  Maria, — how  much  she  is  like  that 
portrait?" 

Mrs.  Creighton,  who  had  evidently  given  no 
thought  to  the  portrait  up  to  this  time,  now 
glanced  at  it  quickly,  and  from  it  to  the  girl 
standing  beneath  it.  She  also  was  plainly 
startled  by  the  likeness  between  the  two. 

' ' There  is — some  resemblance,"  she  said.  "I 
observed  it  when  I  first  saw  Miss  Landon.  But 
it  is — er — more  striking  in  this  dim  light,  and 
on  account  of  her  dress. ' ' 

"It's — amazing!"  Mrs.  Selwyn  declared, 
still  staring  at  the  girl.  "I've  never  seen  any- 
thing like  it,  in  the  way  of  a  chance  resem- 
blance. And — and,  Rachel,  how  do  you  think  it 
will  strike  Cousin  George — if  he  ever  recovers 
consciousness?" 

"We  must  ask  the  doctor — "  Mrs.  Creighton 
was  beginning,  when  the  nurse  quietly  inter- 
posed : 

"That  seems  unnecessary.  I  think  there  is 
no  doubt  that  I  should  leave,  if  my  resemblance 
to  this  portrait  is  indeed  so  strong." 

"It  is  very  strong,"  Mrs.  Creighton  mur- 
mured. And  then  she  turned  to  Desmond: 
"Don't  you  see  it,  Laurence?" 


230  THE  JUDGE  RECOGNIZES 

1 1  Oh,  yes,  I  see  it ! "  he  replied,  a  little  reluc- 
tantly, since  nothing  was  further  from  his  wish 
than  that  Hester  Landon  should  go  away.  '  *  But 
we  can  hardly  imagine  that  my  uncle  will  ever 
recover  sufficiently  to  recognize  a  likeness  of 
the  kind.  And,  in  any  event,  Dr.  Glynn  is  the 
person  to  decide — " 

"Of  course  I  never  meant  anything  else," 
Mrs.  Creighton  said.  "I  should  be  very  sorry 
if  Miss  Landon  thought  that  I  intended  to  imply 
any  desire  for  her  to  go. ' ' 

"I  did  not  think  so,"  Miss  Landon  assured 
her.  "But  we  are  agreed  that  no  risk  of  any 
shock  to  Judge  Wargrave  should  be  run.  I  am 
sure  Dr.  Glynn  will  be  of  that  opinion,  and  I 
shall  ask  to  be  relieved  from  further  duty  when 
he  comes." 

"That  seems  a  pity,"  Mrs.  Selwyn  observed. 
"I'm  confident  that  you  are  a  very  good  nurse. 
I  have  had  much  experience  with  nurses — hav- 
ing had  two  operations  performed,  as  well  as 
many  severe  illnesses, — and  I  can  tell  a  really 
good  nurse  as  soon  as  I  see  her.  There's  a 
clearness  of  look  and  a  coolness  and  steadiness 
of  manner, — you  have  it  all,  and  I  think  it 
would  really  be  a  great  pity  to  deprive  Judge 
Wargrave  of  your  excellent  services  because  of 
a  resemblance  which,  after  all,  may  not  be  as 
strong  as  we  fancy,  and  which  he  may  never 
see  at  all. ' ' 

"I  agree  with  you  heartily,"  Desmond  said, 


THE  LIKENESS  231 

conscious  of  more  cordial  feelings  for  Mrs. 
Selwyn  than  he  had  ever  known  before.  "In 
fact,  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  entertain  the 
idea  of  Miss  Landon's  going  away  on  such  a 
fanciful  ground,  unless  Dr.  Glynn  says  that  it 
is  absolutely  necessary.  And  I'm  quite  sure," 
the  speaker  ended  confidently,  "that  he  won't 
say  anything  of  the  kind. ' ' 

Miss  Landon  gave  him  a  glance  which  he 
readily  interpreted  as  one  of  extremely  doubt- 
ful approval;  and,  turning,  bent  over  her 
patient,  who  had  suddenly  stirred  a  little. 

"I  think  that  he  is  sufficiently  aware  of  the 
talking  to  be  disturbed  by  it,"  she  then  said, 
addressing  Mrs.  Creighton.  "It  will,  perhaps, 
be  better  not  to  discuss  the  matter  further — 
here.  I  will  come  into  the  sitting-room,  if  there 
is  anything  else  you  would  like  to  say  to  me." 

"There  is  nothing — nothing  at  all,"  Mrs. 
Creighton  answered  quickly.  "Cousin  Eliz- 
abeth, I  think  it  will  be  best  for  us  to  go  now. 
Laurence,  I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Bobby 
wants  to  see  you  before  he  leaves. ' ' 

They  all  filed  out  of  the  room;  but  as  Des- 
mond held  the  door  open  for  the  two  ladies, 
Mrs.  Selwyn  paused  for  an  instant  and  glanced 
back  at  the  silent  figure  on  the  bed,  watched 
over  by  the  portrait  hanging  above,  and  its 
living  reproduction  below.  Her  eyes,  when 
they  met  his,  had  an  awe  in  them  which  he  com- 
prehended through  sympathy. 


232  THE  JUDGE  EECOGNIZES 

"It's — the  most  astonishing  thing!"  she  ex- 
claimed, when  they  found  themselves  walking 
down  the  corridor  outside.  "I  don't  know  how 
it  affects  you,  Rachel,  but  I  don't  mind  confess- 
ing that  it  gave  me  a  turn  I  haven't  got  over 
yet  when  I  looked  up  and  saw — it  seemed  as  if 
I  saw  Cousin  Maria  herself  standing  by  the 
bed!" 

"It  was  rather  startling,"  Mrs.  Creighton 
acknowledged;  "and  the  reason  why  I  didn't 
mention  the  resemblance  to  you  was  because  I 
wanted  to  find  if  it  would  strike  you  as  it  struck 
me  when  I  first  saw  the  girl.  I  couldn't  imme- 
diately place  the  likeness.  I  only  knew  that  she 
reminded  me  of  some  one  I  had  seen;  but  it 
flashed  upon  me  who  it  was  before  I  saw  her 
again;  and  then — in  that  room — in  that  white 
dress — well,  the  resemblance  was  simply  amaz- 
ing. No  one  who  ever  saw  my  brother's  wife 
could  have  failed  to  be  struck  by  it. ' ' 

' '  Not  possibly, ' '  Mrs.  Selwyn  agreed.  ' '  Who 
is  the  girl?  Does  anybody  know  anything 
about  her?" 

Mrs.  Creighton  shook  her  head. 

"It  hasn't  occurred  to  me  to  inquire  anything 
about  her  personally,"  she  said.  "Dr.  Glynn 
simply  recommended  her  as  a  good  nurse,  but 
I  think  she  is  a  stranger  in  Kingsford.  Didn't 
I  understand  that  she  was  one  of  the  passengers 
on  your  train, — the  train  that  was  wrecked, 
Laurence?" 


THE  LIKENESS  233 

Desmond,  assenting  briefly,  was  unable  to 
refrain  from  adding  that  it  was  extremely 
fortunate  for  the  other  passengers  that  she  had 
been  one  of  them. 

"No  doubt  she  is  a  good  nurse,' '  Mrs.  Selwyn 
remarked.  "As  I  said  to  her  a  few  minutes 
ago,  I  have  had  so  much  experience  that  I  can 
tell  at  a  glance  whether  a  nurse  is  competent  or 
not.  She  looks  as  if  she  would  be  admirably 
competent;  but  it  is  surely  strange  that  she 
should  have  come  to  nurse  Cousin  George.  It 
almost  makes  one  feel — er — a  little  super- 
stitious." 

' '  There  is  nothing  to  be  superstitious  about, ' ' 
Mrs.  Creighton  declared,  in  apparent  forgetful- 
ness  of  her  own  remarks  to  Desmond  not  long 
before.  '  *  Very  likely  we  are  fanciful.  The  like- 
ness probably  isn't  as  strong  as  we  think.  It 
may  have  been  only  the  white  dress  and  her 
standing  under  the  portrait  which  made  it  seem 
so  remarkable." 

By  this  time  they  were  descending  the  stair- 
case; and  Edith,  who  was  with  Selwyn  in  the 
hall  below,  caught  the  last  words,  and  turned 
with  a  look  of  surprise  to  Desmond  when  he 
joined  them. 

"What  are  they  talking  about?"  she  asked. 
'  *  Who  was  standing  under  a  portrait  in  a  white 
dress?" 

"Miss  Landon  the  nurse,"  he  replied.    "You 


234  THE  JUDGE  RECOGNIZES 

know  the  portrait  of  my  uncle's  wife  in  her 
bridal  dress  which  hangs  over  his  bed?" 

"That  lovely  picture?  I  should  think  I  did 
know  it  well !  It  is  the  thing  I  should  most  like 
to  possess  in  Hillcrest.  But  what  has  the  nurse 
to  do  with  it!" 

A  wild  impulse  to  say  what  she  had  to  do  with 
it — in  other  words,  to  explode  a  bombshell  in 
the  family  circle — seized  Desmond.  But,  aware 
of  the  obligation  which  bound  him  to  restrain 
this  impulse,  he  only  answered,  a  trifle  shortly : 

"Nothing,  except  that  she  resembles  it 
strikingly. ' ' 

' '  Resembles  it, — resembles  that  picture  ?  Oh, 
nonsense!" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  not  giving  you  my  own  impression," 
he  said.  "Naturally,  that  would  be  of  slight 
value.  But  my  aunt  and  Mrs.  Selwyn  were  both 
so  much  struck  by  the  likeness  that  they  are 
discussing  it  yet." 

"That  doesn't  signify  much,"  Edith  re- 
turned. "People  often  see  resemblances  in  the 
oddest  manner  where  they  don't  exist  at  all. 
I  won't  believe  that  a  mere  stranger,  coming 
into  the  house  by  chance,  can  resemble  my 
favorite  picture.  Why,  that  girl,  as  she  is 
painted  there,  looks  as  fine  and  high-bred  as  a 
princess, — a  very  flower  of  aristocratic  con- 
ditions! And  to  talk  of  an  ordinary  trained 
nurse  resembling  her! 


>> 


THE  LIKENESS  235 

Wilder  and  stronger  grew  Desmond's 
impulse  to  speak, — so  wild  and  strong,  indeed, 
that  he  was  forced  to  keep  his  lips  closed  to 
prevent  his  tongue  from  betraying  him.  And 
so  it  was  Selwyn  who  answered  the  young 
ladv's  scornful  words. 

« 

"But  there  are  a  good  many  trained  nurses 
in  these  days  who  might  be  described  as  flowers 
of  aristocratic  conditions,"  he  reminded  her. 
"There's  General  Singleton's  daughter,  and 
Miss  Brooke — one  of  the  Brookes,  you  know, — 
and  Miss  Carteret — " 

"I  know,"  Edith  cut  him  short  impatiently. 
"But  the  fact  that  those  girls  have  gone  into 
nursing,  partly  under  pressure  of  necessity  and 
partly  because  it's  a  fashionable  fad,  doesn't 
make  trained  nurses,  as  a  class,  other  than 
people  who,  however  estimable,  are  certainly 
not  flowers  of  aristocratic  conditions,  and 
whose  training  tends  to  harden  them  in  a  very 
unpleasant  manner." 

"Oh,  I  say!"  Bobby  deprecated.  "I  really 
don't  think  that's  the  case — except  with  a  few, 
of  course." 

"The  stamp  of  their  training — a  training 
which  must  harden — is  on  them  all,"  Edith 
insisted.  "And,  therefore,  I'm  positive  that  to 
talk  of  a  resemblance  between  this  nurse  and 
that  lovely  picture  is  simply  absurd." 

Desmond  looked  at  her  quickly,  and  as  she 
met  his  glance  she  was  struck  by  the  restrained 


236  THE  JUDGE  RECOGNIZES 

excitement  which  it  showed.  But  his  manner 
was  quiet  enough  as  he  said : 

"You  are  so  contemptuous  of  our  opinions — 
of  your  mother's  and  Mrs.  Selwyn's  as  well  as 
of  mine, — that  I  challenge  you  to  come  and  see 
for  yourself  whether  or  not  there  is  a  likeness 
between  Miss  Landon  and  that  portrait. ' ' 

"Very  well."  She  took  up  the  challenge 
promptly.    "Shall  Bobby  come  also?" 

"There's  no  reason  why  he  shouldn't.  And 
probably  he  would  like  to  see  my  uncle. ' ' 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it,"  Bobby  said  can- 
didly. "But  I  wouldn't  mind  seeing  the  nurse 
and  the  portrait;  so,  if  you're  sure  I  won't 
disturb  the  Judge — " 

"He  is  unconscious,  you  know,"  Desmond 
said,  "and  can  hardly  be  disturbed, — although 
it  will  be  well  to  refrain  from  talking  in  his 
chamber. ' ' 

"Are  those  the  nurse's  orders?"  Edith 
asked.  "I  suppose  she  feels  it  necessary  to 
assert  her  authority  in  some  way.  But,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  one  could  talk,  if  one  liked,  with- 
out the  faintest  danger  of  disturbing  him.  I 
was  with  him  just  before  she  came,  and  I  know 
that  it  was  impossible  to  rouse  him  in  the  least 
degree." 

Having  learned  by  this  time  that,  despite  her 
many  charming  qualities,  Miss  Creighton  was 
not  one  with  whom  it  was  wise  to  argue,  Des- 
mond held  his  peace,  and,  together  with  Selwyn, 


THE  LIKENESS  237 

followed  her  upstairs.  She  led  them  into  the 
Judge's  sitting-room,  where  his  great  chair 
stood  pathetically  empty,  beside  his  closed 
desk;  and  where  Virgil,  with  face  set  in  deep 
lines  of  sadness,  rose  from  a  seat  by  the  window 
as  they  entered.  Edith  paused,  hesitated,  and 
looked  interrogatively  at  Desmond. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  send  and  ask  the 
nurse  to  come  and  speak  to  us,"  she  said.  "It 
is  only  courteous  to  recognize  her  authority  in 
the  sick-room  before  taking  Bobby  in.  Virgil, 
will  you  go  and  tell  the  nurse  that  Miss  Creigh- 
ton  would  like  to  see  her  for  a  moment  !" 

Virgil,  in  well-trained  silence,  disappeared 
into  the  adjoining  chamber;  and  there  was  a 
short  interval,  in  which  no  one  spoke,  but  in 
which  Desmond,  whose  nerves  were  on  edge, 
was  unpleasantly  conscious  of  Selwyn's  tat- 
tooing on  the  back  of  a  chair.  Then  the 
portiere  which  hung  over  the  door  was  drawn 
back,  and  Hester  Landon  entered.  As  the  folds 
of  the  curtain  fell  behind  her  white-clad  figure, 
throwing  it  into  relief  as  she  paused,  Desmond 
was  again  struck  by  the  impression  of  some- 
thing cool,  fresh  and  delicate — of  all  exquisite 
potentialities  of  healing — which  she  produced. 
He  stepped  forward  quickly,  before  Edith  could 
speak. 

"You  must  pardon  us  for  troubling  you  so 
soon  again,  Miss  Landon,' '  he  said.  "But  Miss 
Creighton   wishes   to   take   Mr.    Selwyn"    (he 


238  THE  JUDGE  RECOGNIZES 

indicated  Bobby,  who  bowed)  "in  to  see  Judge 
Wargrave,  and  she  thought  it  best  to  consult 
you  before  doing  so.  Edith,  I  believe  you  have 
not  met  Miss  Landon?" 

Despite  her  somewhat  supercilious  attitude 
of  mind  toward  trained  nurses,  Edith  was 
incapable  of  treating  anybody  with  discourtesy. 
Indeed,  according  to  the  code  of  manners  in 
which  she  had  been  educated,  courtesy  was  par- 
ticularly due  to  one  who  was  in  any  degree  a 
social  inferior.  She  thought  Desmond's  inter- 
ference rather  uncalled  for,  but  her  manner  left 
nothing  to  be  desired  in  graciousness  when  she 
said: 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Landon?  I  have 
heard  so  much  of  you,  of  your  noble  work  in  the 
railway  wreck,  that  I  am  very  glad  you  have 
come  to  help  us  take  care  of  my  dear  uncle.  We 
would  like  to  see  him  for  a  few  minutes,  if  you 
are  quite  sure  our  presence  will  not  disturb 
him. ' ' 

"I  am  sure  that  your  presence  will  not," 
Hester  answered,  with  her  quiet  nurse's  man- 
ner; "but  it  is  possible  that  talking  might 
disturb  him  a  little, — at  least,  as  Mr.  Desmond 
knows,  it  seemed  to  do  so  when  Mrs.  Creighton 
and  Mrs.  Selwyn  were  here  a  short  time  ago." 

"Yes,"  Desmond  told  Edith,  "it  certainly 
seemed  so.  We  were  talking  about  the — er — 
portrait  over  the  bed,  and  he  stirred  as  if  our 
voices  annoyed  him." 


THE  LIKENESS  239 

Edith  lifted  lier  brows.  She  was  plainly 
incredulous,  but  did  not  express  her  opinion. 

"We  will  not  talk  at  all,"  she  assured  the 
nurse.  "Mr.  Selwyn  simply  desires  to  look  at 
him. ' ' 

Mr.  Selwyn,  conscious  of  having  no  such 
desire  at  all,  nevertheless  murmured  something 
which  sounded  like  acquiescence ;  and  Miss  Lan- 
don,  again  drawing  back  the  portiere,  invited 
them  by  a  gesture  to  enter  the  chamber. 

A  moment  later  they  stood  silently  grouped 
about  the  bed  on  which  the  recumbent  figure 
lay,  with  so  much  majestic  calm  in  the  lines  of 
the  chiselled  face,  the  quietly  extended  limbs, 
the  folded  hands,  that  the  incapacity  of  illness 
was  almost  forgotten.  For  even  in  this  ex- 
tremity of  physical  weakness,  the  strong  char- 
acter, the  dominant  will,  the  keen  intellectual 
force  which  had  made  Judge  Wargrave 
throughout  his  life  such  an  impressive  person- 
ality, still  asserted  themselves,  and  still  had 
power  to  inspire  in  those  who  saw  him  some- 
thing so  closely  approaching  to  awe  that  even 
Bobby  Selwyn,  after  gazing  for  a  moment  with 
a  look  of  unusual  gravity  on  his  countenance, 
drew  back  and  whispered  to  Desmond : 

"Seems  incredible  he  isn't  able  to  rouse 
himself.  One  can't  associate  the  idea  of 
incapacity  with  him!  You  feel  as  if  he  had  will 
enough  to  do  anything, — to  open  his  eyes  if  he 


240  THE  JUDGE  KECOGNIZES 

liked,  and  say  something — er — conclusive,  you 
know. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid,"  Desmond  responded,  in 
equally  low  tones,  "that  he  has  said  something 
conclusive  indeed.  I  wonder,  by  the  by,  what 
it  was, — his  last  utterance?  One  would  like 
one's  last  utterance  to  be  noble  and  dignified,  if 
possible;  at  least  his  should  have  been  so." 

"But  last  utterances  aren't  often,  I  believe," 
Bobby  said;  and  then  abruptly,  in  an  uncon- 
sciously louder  tone :  ' '  Oh,  by  George ! ' ' 

Desmond  seized  his  arm  warningly,  but  he 
did  not  heed;  he  was  staring  at  the  portrait, 
and  from  it  at  the  nurse,  whose  face  turned 
quickly  toward  him  with  a  look  of  admonition. 
But  Selwyn  lost  the  admonition  in  studying  the 
resemblance  which  struck  him  with  such  over- 
whelming force  that  he  forgot  everything  else. 

' '  Never  saw  anything  like  it ! "  he  announced 
in  tones  which  rang  through  the  silence  of  the 
hushed  room.  "It's  simply  astounding,  how 
much  alike — " 

But  the  nurse's  lifted  hand  now  stopped  his 
words.  Judge  Wargrave,  at  sound  of  that  loud 
"By  George!"  had  stirred,  as  if  responding  to 
the  call  of  his  own  name ;  and  when  the  strident 
tones  went  on,  he  opened  his  eyes.  There  was 
an  instant's  pause  while  the  nurse  bent  over 
him.  His  gaze  settled  on  her  face  and  rested 
there — at  first  blankly,  then  gathering  expres- 
sion as  the  light  of  understanding  came  slowly 


THE  LIKENESS  241 

Into  it.  And  then — while  those  who  stood  by, 
motionless  as  statues,  held  their  breath  in  sus- 
pense— there  followed  a  flash  of  recognition: 
the  lips  unclosed,  the  tongue  seemed  struggling 
to  speak,  and  finally,  with  great  effort,  uttered 
one  word: 
"Maria!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  JUDGE  'S  ILLUSION 

"It  is,"  said  Dr.  Glynn,  "one  of  the  most 
gratifying  tilings  I  have  ever  known  that  the 
Judge  should  have  recovered  consciousness  in 
any  degree  so  soon. ' ' 

He  spoke  to  Mrs.  Creighton,  on  whom,  how- 
ever, his  cheerfulness  did  not  appear  to  have  an 
entirely  reassuring  effect. 

"But,  doctor,"  she  demurred,  "how  about 
his  mind?  That  was  perfectly  clear  as  soon  as 
he  rallied  at  all  from  the  other  attack.  But 
now — you  have  heard  that  he  imagines  the 
nurse  to  be  his  wife ! ' ' 

"An  entirely  temporary  condition,"  the  doc- 
tor replied.  "The  mind  has  not  altogether 
cleared  yet,  and  therefore  confuses  persons  as 
well  as  names ;  but  I  believe  that  it  will  clear — " 

"And  that  he  will  be  quite  himself  again ?" 

"W-e-11" — the  word  was  drawn  out  slowly, 
— "perhaps  not  quite  himself  as  we  have  known 
him.  We  could  hardly  expect  that.  But  he  will 
recover  the  use  of  his  faculties  to  a  certain 
degree ;  and  it  is  not  likely  that  he  will  continue 
to  mistake   the   nurse   for   his   wife.    What  a 

242 


THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION  243 

really  remarkable  resemblance,  by  the  by, 
there  is  between  Miss  Landon  and  the  portrait 
of  Mrs.  Wargrave !  I  scarcely  wonder  that,  in 
his  present  condition,  the  Judge  should  confuse 
one  with  the  other.' ' 

"There  is  a  very  strong  likeness,"  Mrs. 
Creighton  agreed.  "Before  he  roused,  we  were 
all  struck  with  it,  and  were  inclined  to  think 
that  it  would  be  well  for  Miss  Landon  to  go 
away,  because  we  feared  just  what  has  hap- 
pened— a  shock  to  him. ' ' 

"But  there  hasn't  been  any  shock,"  the 
doctor  interposed  positively.  "On  the  con- 
trary, the  recognition  of  the  likeness  has  had  a 
distinctly  stimulating  and  beneficial  effect. 
Miss  Landon  spoke  to  me  herself  about  going 
away:  she  seemed  to  have  an  impression  that 
you  desired  it." 

"Oh,  she  is  mistaken  about  that!  Or,  if  I 
expressed  any  desire  of  the  kind,  it  was  only 
because  I  feared  the  effect  of  the  likeness  on 
my  brother.  But  I  always  said  we  must  ask  you 
whether  she  should  go  or  stay." 

"I  told  her  to  stay;  in  fact,  I  would  not  hear 
of  her  going.  In  the  first  place,  we  could  not 
replace  her  as  a  nurse  without  trouble  and 
delay  and,  in  the  second  place,  the  Judge  would 
probably  miss  her  and  be  distressed  and  irri- 
tated. Anything  likely  to  have  that  effect  on 
him  must  be  carefully  avoided.  If  he  is  kept 
perfectly  quiet  in  mind  and  body  for  a  few  days 


244  THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION 

now,  I  have  every  hope  that  he  may  rally 
again. ' ' 

' 1 1  am  very  glad  to  hear  it, — very  grateful ! ' ' 
Mrs.  Creighton  observed,  in  a  tone  of  deep  feel- 
ing.   "It  is  more  than  I  expected." 

"It  is  much  more  than  /  expected,"  the 
doctor  frankly  replied. 

It  was  indeed  a  fresh  proof  of  the  strength 
and  vitality  of  Judge  Wargrave  that,  after  his 
unexpected  and  somewhat  startling  recovery  of 
consciousness,  he  did  not  again  relapse  into 
unconsciousness  so  deep  that  he  could  not  be 
roused.  There  was,  it  is  true,  a  difficulty  in 
this  rousing,  as  if  the  soul  had  withdrawn  to 
some  inner  citadel  of  the  senses,  from  which  it 
came  forth  reluctantly  and  with  an  effort.  But 
it  did  come  forth  when  summoned  by  a  voice 
that  he  knew.  And  to  every  one  except  Des- 
mond it  was  strange  that  no  voice  had  such 
power  to  rouse  him  from  the  coma-like  condi- 
tion into  which  for  several  days  he  fell  as  soon 
as  the  demand  upon  his  attention  was  over,  as 
the  voice  of  the  nurse.  That  the  only  name  his 
tongue  seemed  able  to  pronounce  was  that  by 
which  he  called  her — the  name  of  the  wife  of 
his  youth, — was,  they  agreed,  not  so  strange; 
but  his  response  to  her  voice  was  a  matter  of 
astonishment  to  all,  and  of  distinct  resentment 
to  Edith. 

"You  would  think,"  she  said  to  Desmond, 
"that  Uncle  George  would  respond  to  the  voice 


THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION  245 

of  some  one  whom  he  knows  and  loves  rather 
than  to  that  of  a  mere  nurse.  I  don't — I  really 
don't  understand  why  this  stranger  should 
come  in  and  take  the  first  place  with  him  in  this 
manner. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do  understand!''  Desmond  told 
her.    "You  know  it  is  because — " 

"Of  an  accidental  resemblance  to  his  wife? 
Of  course  I  know  that ;  but,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, I  don't  see  the  likeness  as  the  rest  of 
you  do;  and  I  don't  think  it  accounts  for  the 
manner  in  which  he  responds  to  her  voice." 

"Perhaps  there  is  a  similarity  of  voice  as 
well  as  of  face,"  Desmond  suggested,  feeling 
himself  the  worst  of  hypocrites,  since  he  was 
perfectly  convinced  that  such  a  similarity  must 
exist  by  inheritance. 

"It  seems  to  me  more  probable  that  it  is 
merely  the  association  of  the  voice  with  the 
face,"  Edith  remarked  reflectively.  "But,  in 
any  case,  it  is  strange  and — disagreeable.  I 
wish  that  Dr.  Glynn  had  never  brought  the 
nurse  here.  There's  really  no  need  of  her  at 
all,  and  it  is  a  pity  mamma  had  not  sent  her 
away  before  poor  Uncle  George  roused  to  con- 
sciousness and  mistook  her  for  his  wife." 

"Then  you  would  have  missed  a  very 
dramatic  moment,"  Desmond  observed.  "I 
shall  never  forget  how  we  all  waited  to  see  what 
would  be  the  result  of  Bobby's  exclamation, — 
holding  our  breath  while  my  uncle  opened  his 


246  THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION 

eyes  and  the  light  came  into  them  as  he  saw 
Miss  Landon.  Then  when  he  called  her 
'  Maria ! '  in  a  tone  such  as  I  am  sure  no  one  but 
his  wife  ever  heard  from  him  before,  one  felt 
one's  self  wonderfully  moved. 

"I  didn't!"  Edith  declared.  "I  felt  dis- 
gusted. ' ' 

Desmond  could  not  restrain  a  laugh,  although 
it  was  a  trifle  nervous. 

"I  believe  that  you  are  positively  jealous  of 
the  nurse, ' '  he  said. 

"I  am  jealous  for  Uncle  George,"  Edith 
returned, — "jealous  that  he  should  be  wasting 
his  deep  and  rare  affection  on  a  mere — " 

"You  must  remember,"  Desmond  inter- 
rupted hastily,  "that  he  is  not  wasting  his 
affection  at  all.  It  is  directed  toward  his  wife, 
and  not  in  reality  to  the  nurse  whom  he  mis- 
takes for  her.  But  you'll  be  glad  to  hear  that 
the  doctor  thinks  this  condition  merely  tempo- 
rary, that  in  a  little  while  he  will  probably  know 
who  she  is." 

"I  shall  certainly  be  glad  when  that  time 
comes,"  Edith  said,  a  little  loftily.  "I  love  and 
admire  him  so  much  that  I  confess  I  find  the 
present  state  of  affairs  very  trying." 

Pondering  these  utterances,  and  others  like 
them,  Desmond  presently  took  his  way  up- 
stairs. The  situation  was  so  far  a  false  one 
that  he  could  not  avoid  feeling  irritated  by  it; 
and  this  irritation  was  largely  directed  toward 


THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION  247 

the  nurse,  although  he  had  candor  enough  to 
admit  that  he  was  chiefly  responsible  for  her 
presence  at  Hillcrest.  "But  I  could  not  have 
expected  all  this!"  he  said  to  himself;  by  which 
vague  expression  he  meant  the  universal  rec- 
ognition of  her  likeness  to  the  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Wargrave,  and  the  fact  that  his  uncle  's  clouded 
mind  had  mistaken  her  for  the  grandmother  she 
resembled.  These  things  being  so,  he  had  an 
intense  conviction  that  she  should  speak — or 
allow  him  to  speak, — declare  who  she  was,  and 
take  her  rightful  position  in  her  father's  home. 
Miss  Creighton's  slighting  allusions  to  "a  mere 
trained  nurse"  roused  in  him  a  deep  sense  of 
annoyance;  for  he  could  not  lose  sight  of  the 
fact  that  it  was  of  Harry  Wargrave 's  daughter 
that  she  spoke,  of  the — yes,  of  the  rightful 
heiress  of  Hillcrest. 

The  last  thought  struck  him  like  a  blow,  so 
that  he  positively  paused  and  gasped  over  it. 
Of  course  she  was,  in  -justice,  the  heiress  of 
Hillcrest;  and  yet — there  was  the  Wargrave 
trust;  and  there  was  his  uncle's  will,  naming 
himself  as  the  Wargrave  heir !  Fortunately,  he 
remembered,  people  could  not  be  forced  to 
accept  inheritances  which  they  felt  were  not 
justly  theirs ;  but,  again,  neither  could  other 
people  be  forced  to  take  such  inheritances. 
And  he  had  a  strong  conviction  that  nothing  on 
earth  would  ever  induce  Hester  Landon  to  take 
what  was  not  explicitly  given  to  her.    "Oh,  by 


248  THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION 

Jove!"  he  muttered  helplessly  to  himself,  very 
much  as  Bobby  Selwyn  might  have  muttered; 
for  the  muddle  of  the  situation  seemed,  on  the 
surface,  hopeless;  and  all  that  he  was  sure  of 
was  that  the  key — if  key  there  were — lay  in  the 
hands  of  the  girl  of  whom  he  was  thinking. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  standing  by  his 
uncle's  bed,  looking  at  those  hands — white  and 
slender,  yet  with  capability  expressed  in  every 
line — as  they  changed  the  pillows  and  per- 
formed other  offices  of  a  nurse  about  the 
patient.  The  manner  in  which  the  old  man 
roused  from  his  state  of  partial  unconscious- 
ness to  acknowledge  these  attentions  with  a 
smile  and  a  word  or  two  of  grateful  apprecia- 
tion was,  Desmond  thought,  hardly  less  than 
pathetic  in  the  light  of  the  actual  state  of 
affairs.  He  tried  to  rouse  the  same  notice  for 
himself,  but  it  was  more  difficult.  There  was 
doubt  and  uncertainty  in  the  glance  which  met 
his  own,  and  the  lips  were  altogether  unable  to 
utter  his  name. 

1  i  I  don 't  believe  that  he  knows  me  at  all, ' '  he 
said  to  the  nurse,  when  the  eyelids  fell  over  the 
eyes,  as  if  the  mind  rebelled  against  further 
effort. 

"I  think  that  he  does,"  she  answered.  "But 
he  is  evidently  puzzled  and  confused  between 
past  and  present.  This  state  will  not  last,  how- 
ever. The  mind  is  clearing ;  I  notice  that  very 
perceptibly. ' ' 


THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION  249 

"He  certainly  knows  you  very  well." 

"You  mean  that  he  knows  me  as  the  person 
he  mistakes  me  for?  Yes,  that  is  true,  and  it  is 
also  natural.    I  must  look  very  much  like  her. ' ' 

"So  much  that  I — I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
it, ' '  the  young  man  said  impulsively.  '  *  He  does 
not  need  anything  more  just  now.  Will  you 
come  into  the  sitting-room  for  a  few  minutes?" 

She  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then — 

"If  you  think  it  worth  while,"  she  said,  a 
little  reluctantly.  "Ring  for  Virgil.  Judge 
Wargrave  must  not  be  left  alone." 

When  Virgil  appeared,  she  walked  into  the 
next  room;  and  Desmond,  following,  closed  the 
door  between  it  and  the  chamber, — the  door 
over  which  a  curtain  always  hung,  since  Judge 
Wargrave  was  very  susceptible  to  draughts. 
Then  he  approached  the  girl,  who  had  paused 
and  turned  toward  him. 

"Do  sit  down,"  he  said,  drawing  a  chair  for 
her  before  the  open  window.  "You  must  be 
tired." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  she  answered.  But, 
nevertheless,  she  sat  down,  and  then  leaned 
forward  with  an  exclamation  of  involuntary 
delight  at  the  scene  outspread  below, — sweep- 
ing valley,  gently  rolling  hills,  and  distant 
woods,  all  steeped  in  the  dreamy  softness  of 
that  exquisite  Indian  summer  which  in  Caro- 
lina lingers  far  into  December.  "How  beauti- 
ful !"    she   murmured   as   if   to   herself;    and, 


250  THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION 

presently  turning  her  eyes  to  the  young  man 
who  was  leaning  beside  the  window,  she  added : 
1  'It  is  a  fine  old  place.  I  am  not  sorry  to  have 
seen  it — once." 

Desmond  perceived,  and  promptly  seized  his 
opportunity. 

4 'It  is  your  rightful  home,"  he  told  her 
quickly.  "You  ought  to  feel  this,  and — and 
you  ought  to  feel  also  that  your  present  posi- 
tion here  is  a  false  one. ' ' 

"I  don't  acknowledge  that  it  is  a  false 
position,  for  I  am  here  simply  and  solely  as  a 
professional  nurse,"  she  said,  "but  if  it  were, 
whose  fault  is  it?" 

"Mine,"  he  replied.  "And,  being  mine,  I 
have  a  sense  of  responsibility  which  makes  me 
very  uncomfortable." 

' '  You  must  pardon  me  for  observing  that  you 
should  have  thought  of  the  things  which  make 
you  uncomfortable  before  you  incurred  the 
responsibility,"  she  said  a  little  dryly. 

"I  suppose  that  I  should,"  he  answered. 
"No  doubt  I  was  presumptuous;  but,  you  see, 
I  didn't  know  anything  about  some  of  the 
things.  Particularly,  I  didn't  know  that  your 
likeness  to  your  grandmother  is  so  strong  that 
it  would  be  noticed  at  once. ' ' 

' i  I  didn  't  count  on  that, ' '  she  confessed.  ' '  If 
I  had,  I  should  not  have  come.  I  am  extremely 
sorry  now  that  I  did  come,  and  I  have  tried  to 
induce  the  doctor  to  let  me  go  away. ' ' 


THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION  251 

"And  he  will  not!" 

' '  No,  he  will  not  consent.  I  could  only  go  by 
taking  the  matter  into  my  own  hands,  and  leav- 
ing without  his  permission.  But  I  am  averse 
to  doing  this, — not  only  from  a  professional 
standpoint,  but  because  his  strongest  argument 
for  my  staying  is  that  he  regards  my  presence 
as  a  distinct  benefit  to  the  patient. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  heard  him  say  so  very  emphatically. 
He  thinks  that  the  likeness  which  makes  my 
uncle  mistake  you  for  his  wife  has  had  a  bene- 
ficial and  stimulating  effect  upon  him. ' ' 

"So  far  it  has,"  she  conceded.  "But  I  am 
not  sure  what  the  effect  mav  be  when  he  realizes 
that  I  am  not  the  person  he  takes  me  for. 
Therefore  I  think  it  would  be  well  for  me  to  go 
before  he  realizes  this,  and  then  he  would  fancy 
that  it  had  all  been  a  dream  that  ' Maria'  had 
been  beside  him."  She  clasped  her  hands 
tightly  together  as  they  lay  in  her  lap,  and  a 
sudden  note  of  entreaty  came  into  her  voice. 
"Oh,  I  want  to  go  away!"  she  exclaimed. 
' '  Can 't  you  help  me  to  do  so  ?  It  is  your  fault 
that  I  am  here." 

"I  know  that  it  is  my  fault,"  he  said.  "But 
I  would  rather  help  you  to  stay  than  to  go. 
Indeed,  in  my  opinion,  you  must  stay:  it  is 
your  duty  as  well  as  your  right  to  be  here." 

"It  is  not  my  duty;  I  deny  that  utterly!"  she 
told  him. 

"Denying  a   fact   does   not  change   it,"   he 


252  THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION 

reminded  her.  "This  old  man  is  not  only  your 
nearest  relative,  since  I  take  for  granted  that 
your  mother  is  not  living — " 

"My  mother  died  when  I  was  an  infant." 

"Well,  then,  where  have  you  any  tie  nearer 
than  the  tie  which  is  here? — any  duty  more 
pressing  than  a  duty  to  your  father's  father — " 

"Who  unjustly  condemned  and  banished  my 
father \" 

"On  the  contrary,  who  condemned  him 
through  the  high  sternness  of  his  sense  of 
justice,  and  who  now  lies  crushed  and  broken 
under  the  late  knowledge  of  his  mistake.  And 
in  this  sad  condition  no  one  can  help  him  as  you 
can.  You  have  the  word  of  the  doctor  for  that. 
No  one  of  those  who  love  him  best  can  do  for 
him  what  you  have  the  power  to  do.  And  yet, 
in  the  face  of  an  opportunity  so  great  that,  as 
I  told  you  before,  it  could  come  only  once  in  a 
lifetime,  you  talk  of  going  away ! ' ' 

His  tone  carried  such  a  keen  edge  of  reproach 
that  for  a  moment  she  could  only  stare  at  him, 
with  a  mingling  of  wonder  and  resentment  in 
her  eyes.     Then: 

' '  When  I  listen  to  you, ' '  she  said,  ' 1 1  seem  to 
have  a  glimpse  of  things — ideals  and  standards 
— which  are  new  to  me,  and  which  have  a  cer- 
tain attraction, — an  attraction  that  has  brought 
me  here,  and  which  I  now  regret.  So  I  think  I 
will  close  my  ears — " 

"You  can't  close  your  mind,"  he  interrupted 


THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION  253 

confidently.  "Many  people  can  do  so,  but  yon 
are  not  one  of  them.  You  see  what  I  mean. 
You  recognize  its  force  in  coming  here;  and 
now  that  you  are  here,  you  can  not,  you  dare 
not,  go  away." 

"I  dare  do  anything  that  my  conscience  and 
judgment  approve,' '  she  answered  a  little 
proudly. 

"Oh,  I'm  quite  sure  of  that!"  he  returned. 
"But  the  point  is  that  neither  your  conscience 
nor  your  judgment  will  approve  of  this,  and  so 
you  can't  do  it.  You  must  stay  at  Hillcrest,  and 
I  have  come  now  to  beg  you  to  stay  as  some- 
thing more  than  a  nurse." 

"You  mean — " 

"I  mean  that  I  want  you  to  let  me  tell  my 
aunt — your  aunt  also — who  you  are." 

"Do  you  remember  that  it  was  only  on  the 
condition  of  your  promising  to  keep  the  secret 
of  my  identity  that  I  came  here?"  she 
demanded. 

"Of  course  I  remember  it,"  he  answered; 
"but  I  am  begging  you  to  release  me  from  that 
promise,  I  am  begging  you  to  recognize  that  it 
places  both  you  and  me  in  a  false  position." 

"I  don't  recognize  it,"  she  replied  coldly; 
"but  if  I  did,  I  should  still  decline  to  release 
you  from  your  promise.  Nothing  would  induce 
me  to  do  so, — nothing !  The  only  way  in  which 
you  can  change  the  position  you  consider  false 
is  by  helping  me  to  get  away. ' '  . 


254  THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION 

He  shook  his  head. 

'  *  I  '11  never  do  that ! ' '  he  said. 

There  was  an  instant's  panse  as  they  looked 
at  each  other,  will  set  against  will,  neither  with 
a  thought  of  yielding,  and  both  so  absorbed  in 
the  tension  of  the  situation  that  they  were 
entirely  unconscious  of  the  slight  click  made  by 
the  closing  of  a  door,  which  had  been  noise- 
lessly opened  behind  its  portiere. 

"I  must  remind  you,"  the  girl  said  presently, 
' '  that  by  your  appeals  you  overbore  my  de- 
cision and  induced  me  to  come  here,  and  that  I 
came  only  because  you  pledged  your  honor  to 
keep  my  secret — " 

"Oh,  I'll  keep  it!"  he  said  abruptly.  "I 
can't  do  other  than  keep  it,  if  you  insist.  But 
you  are  wrong,  I  'm  sure  of  that. ' ' 

"You  should  have  been  sure  before  you 
persuaded  me  to  come,"  she  replied,  as  she  rose 
from  her  seat.  "If  the  situation  is  a  false  one, 
you  have  yourself  chiefly  to  blame;  though  I 
am  to  blame  also  for  yielding  to  your  persua- 
sions. I  can  help  you  only  by  going  away  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  that  I  mil  certainly  do." 

"I  beg  you  most  earnestly — "  he  was  begin- 
ning, when  she  lifted  her  hand. 

1  i  Some  one  is  talking  in  the  next  room, ' '  she 
said;  "and — ah,  Judge  Wargrave  is  calling!" 

She  ran  across  the  floor,  followed  quickly  by 
Desmond,  and  opened  the  door  leading  into  the 
chamber.     The  scene  upon  which  they  entered 


THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION  255 

was  as  startling  as  it  was  unexpected.  Judge 
Wargrave  had  partially  risen,  and  was  sitting 
on  the  side  of  his  bed,  evidently  making  an 
effort  to  rise  to  his  feet,  from  which  Virgil  on 
one  side  and  Edith  on  the  other  were  trying  to 
restrain  him,  while  he  called  loudly  and  re- 
peatedly: "Maria!  Maria !" 

Hester  Landon  came  quickly  forward,  and  as 
his  gaze  fell  on  her  he  became  instantly  quiet, 
the  distress  that  had  been  on  his  face  vanished, 
and  he  held  out  his  hand  to  her  with  a  pathetic 
expression  of  gladness  and  relief.  "Maria!" 
he  said  again ;  and  then,  murmuring  something 
unintelligible,  but  which  seemed  to  be  an 
expression  of  his  fear  that  she  had  left  him,  he 
lifted  to  his  lips  the  hand  she  had  given  him, 
bending  his  head  over  it  with  the  air  and  grace 
of  a  courtier  kissing  the  hand  of  his  queen. 

Desmond  glanced  quickly  at  Edith.  She  had 
drawn  back  as  the  nurse  approached,  and  her 
eyes  met  his  now,  shining  with  indignant  anger 
under  her  dark,  level  brows.  Her  voice  fell  on 
the  silence  like  the  stroke  of  a  bell. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "that  I  was  so 
unfortunate  as  to  rouse  Uncle  George.  I  came 
in  a  few  minutes  ago;  and,  finding  the  nurse 
absent,  I  spoke  to  him,  wondering  if  he  would 
know  me.  I  don't  know  whether  he  knew  me  or 
not;  all  that  he  seemed  to  observe  was  that  I 
was  not  the  nurse,  and  he  was  so  dreadfullv 
distressed  that  he  began  to  call  and  tried  to 


256  THE  JUDGE'S  ILLUSION 

rise  at  once.  It  is  fortunate"  (she  now  ad- 
dressed herself  a  little  haughtily  to  Miss  Lan- 
don)  "that  you  had  not  gone  very  far,  since 
neither  Virgil  nor  I  was  able  to  control  him." 

"He  has  never  been  disturbed  by  my  absence 
before,"  Hester  said  quietly;  "so  I  did  not 
hesitate  to  go  into  the  sitting-room  for  a  few 
minutes  to  speak  to  Mr.  Desmond." 

"He  seemed  to  be  afraid  that  I  had  come  to 
take  your  place,  and  wanted  to  go  in  search  of 
you,"  Edith  said;  and  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  hurt  feeling  in  her  tone. 

Hester  looked  at  her  with  something  like 
compassion. 

' l  You  should  not  mind  that, ' '  she  said  gently. 
"Surely  you  understood  that  it  is  because  he 
mistakes  me  for  some  one  else." 

Miss  Creighton  lifted  her  head. 

"The  explanation  does  not  render  the  fact 
less  disagreeable,"  she  remarked  crisply;  "and 
I  shall  be  careful  not  to  subject  myself  to  any- 
thing so  unpleasant  again. ' ' 

She  turned  as  she  spoke  and  walked  out  of 
the  room.  Desmond  lingered  a  moment  to  say 
to  the  nurse,  in  a  low,  significant  tone,  "You  see 
how  impossible  it  is  for  you  to  think  of  leaving 
him!"  and  then  followed  Edith. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

EDITH  CREIGHTON'S  OPINION  OF  LAURENCE 

Edith  had  walked  in  very  dignified  fashion 
out  of  Judge  Wargrave's  chamber,  but  she 
must  have  quickened  her  pace  greatly  the 
instant  she  was  outside;  for  when  Desmond 
followed,  he  found  no  sign  of  her.  The  corridor 
stretched  before  him  empty,  although  there  was 
a  sound  of  flying  feet  and  rustling  skirts  around 
the  curving  gallery  beyond.  But  when  he 
reached  the  point  where  the  corridor  opened  on 
the  gallery,  the  last  also  was  empty,  and  the 
sound  of  a  sharply  closing  door  told  him  that 
Edith  had  taken  refuge  from  pursuit  in  her 
own  chamber. 

He  paused  and  stood  for  a  moment,  looking 
at  the  closed  door  with  a  sense  of  exasperation 
against  feminine  unreasonableness,  which  is  a 
common  masculine  state  of  mind, — as  common 
as  the  exasperation  which  is  produced  in 
women  bv  the  obtuseness  of  men.  "How  can 
she  be  so  foolish!"  was  his  impatient  thought, 
and  he  was  strongly  tempted  to  knock  on  the 
door  and  summon  Edith  out  in  order  to  express 
it.    But  wiser  thought  prevailed,  and  he  walked 

257 


258  EDITH  CREIGHTOX'S  OPIXION 

slowly  downstairs,  conscious  that  the  irritation 
which  so  unpleasantly  possessed  him  was  not 
altogether  due  to  Miss  Creighton's  unreason- 
ableness. Indeed,  he  acknowledged  to  himself 
that  it  was  chiefly  due  to  his  failure  to  make 
any  impression  upon  Hester  Landon.  It  was 
perhaps  because  he  had  prevailed  with  her  once 
— had  induced  her  to  see  things  as  he  saw  them, 
and  to  act  as  he  wished,  when  it  was  a  question 
of  her  coming  to  Hillcrest — that  he  was  so 
keenly  disappointed  now  at  his  inability  to  pre- 
vail with  her  again, — to  make  her  realize  the 
falseness  of  the  position  in  which  they  were 
both  involved.  He  had  gone  to  her,  eagerly  con- 
fident of  his  power  to  influence,  to  convince ;  and 
he  had  failed  utterly !  Not  only  so,  he  had  been 
reminded  that  he  was  chiefly,  if  not  altogether, 
to  blame  for  the  situation  of  which  he  com- 
plained; that  if  he  had  not  interfered  at  a 
crucial  moment — if,  in  words  of  current  speech, 
he  had  minded  his  own  business — she  would 
not  now  be  under  the  roof  of  Hillcrest,  and 
beside  Judge  Wargrave's  bed. 

All  this  was  true.  It  was  impossible  to  deny 
it,  yet  equally  impossible  to  regret  what  he  had 
done.  He  was  quite  clear  on  the  latter  point. 
However  much  Hester's  obstinacy  might  irri- 
tate, it  could  not  make  him  sorry  that  she  was 
where  he  was  quite  sure  that  she  should  be,  and 
where  he  was  equally  sure  that,  if  in  any  degree 
it   rested   with   him,    she    should   remain.    He 


OF  LAUKENCE  259 

looked  up  and  nodded  to  the  portraits  hanging 
around  the  hall ;  he  had  a  feeling  that  they,  with 
their  steadfast,  watching  eyes,  were  in  the 
secret  with  him.  "I  must  keep  my  promise,' ' 
he  confided,  half-aloud,  to  them.  "There's  no 
help  for  that.  But  I'll  see  that  she  doesn't 
leave  this  house,  where  we  know  that  she 
belongs."  Then,  with  a  sense  of  vaguely 
soothed  irritation,  he  snatched  up  a  hat, 
pressed  it  down  over  his  brows,  and  went  out 
doors. 

About  half  an  hour  later  a  motor-car  glided 
with  unwonted  quietness  up  to  the  door,  and 
from  it  Bobby  Selwyn  stepped  just  as  Miss 
Creighton  emerged  from  the  house,  pulling  on 
a  pair  of  large  gloves  with  a  good  deal  of 
energy.  There  were  other  storm-signals 
besides  the  energy,  which  Mr.  Selwyn 's  wary 
eyes  at  once  perceived, — a  heightened  color  on 
the  cheeks,  a  compression  of  the  usually  smiling 
lips,  and  a  gleam  in  the  dark  eyes,  which  swept 
him  with  a  careless  glance. 

"Oh,  how  d'ye  do,  Bobby!"  Edith  said,  in  a 
tone  as  careless  as  the  glance.  "I  didn't  know 
you  were  here." 

"You  couldn't  know  it,"  Bobby  meekly 
remarked,  "since  I  have  just  arrived ;  and  I  beg 
to  call  your  attention  to  the  quietness  with 
which  I  came  up.  I  don't  suppose  you  heard 
the  car  at  all. ' ' 

"No,  I  didn't  hear  it,"  she  answered,  "or  I 


260         EDITH  CREIGHTON'S  OPINION 

shouldn  't  have  come  out  at  this  moment.  I  had 
no  desire  to  meet  any  one." 

"I  hope  that  doesn't  mean  that  you  had  no 
desire  to  meet  me,"  Bobby  observed;  "for  I 
am,  as  always,  extremely  glad  to  meet  you." 

"You  are  very  good,"  she  returned  impa- 
tiently; "but  I  really  can't  reciprocate  the 
sentiment  at  present.  I've  just  remarked  that 
I  am  leaving  the  house  in  order  to  avoid  people, 
so  you  must  excuse  me.  You'll  find  mamma  in 
the  library,  and  she'll  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

"Well,  I  can't  reciprocate  that  sentiment," 
Bobby  answered  frankly.  "I  shouldn't  be  a  bit 
delighted  to  see  Cousin  Rachel  under  these  cir- 
cumstances,— with  you  gone  off  alone  in  a 
huff—" 

"Bobby,  how  dare  you!" 

"But  you  are  in  a  huff,  so  what's  the  good  of 
not  saying  so!  I  haven't  seen  you  in  such  a 
temper  in  a  long  time.  What  has  happened? 
Who  has  made  you  so  angry?" 

"I'm  not  angry — " 

' '  Oh,  what  nonsense ! ' '  Mr.  Selwyn  permitted 
himself  to  remark.  "You  are  simply  fighting 
mad,  and  you  might  as  well  give  yourself  the 
relief  of  telling  me  what  it  is  all  about. ' ' 

As  Edith  looked  at  him,  it  was  doubtful  for 
an  instant  whether  she  would  not  give  herself 
the  relief  of  blazing  out  with  the  temper  he 
divined.      But    something   in   his    expression, 


OF  LAURENCE  261 

which  was  at  once  bold  and  deprecating,  pro- 
voked a  langh  instead. 

'  'You  are  perfectly  absurd!"  she  said.  "I 
am  not  'fighting  mad'  at  all :  I  am  only  'out  of 
sorts/  disgusted,  disappointed,  and  perhaps  a 
little  indignant,  and  therefore  not  good  com- 
pany for  any  one. ' ' 

"You  are  always  good  company  for  me," 
Bobby  told  her  simply.  "You  couldn't  be  in 
any  condition  in  which  I  shouldn't  like  to  be 
with  you.  See  now!  Suppose  that  instead  of 
going  off  to — er — sulk  by  yourself,  you  come 
and  take  a  little  spin  with  me?  That  will  help 
you  to  feel  better — " 

"It  wouldn't  help  me  at  all.  You  know  that 
I  detest  being  blown  about." 

"You  shan't  be  blown  about.  I'll  crawl  if 
you  say  so, — though  it's  curious  taste.  Come ! ' ' 
— he  held  out  his  hand  pleadingly.  "The  car's 
going  beautifully  to-day;  and  while  we  glide 
along — for  I  won't  do  any  speeding  at  all — you 
can  tell  me  what  has  disgusted  and  disap- 
pointed you. ' ' 

Miss  Creighton  still  regarded  him  doubtfully 
for  a  moment;  but  there  was  a  temptation  in 
the  partial  diversion  from  her  angry  thoughts, 
which  he  offered.  All  women  are  aware  that 
there  is  a  certain  kind  of  devotion — the  rare 
devotion  which  gives  much  and  asks  little — that 
is  very  attractive  to  the  feminine  nature; 
especially  when  some  other  devotion  to  which 


262  EDITH  CREIGHTON'S  OPINION 

they  feel  they  have  a  right  has  failed  them. 
Hurt,  disappointed  and  indignant,  as  Edith 
truthfully  described  herself,  she  was  for  the 
first  time  conscious  of  a  sense  of  comfort  in 
Bobby's  unwavering  sympathy,  and  in  the 
devotion  which  was  always  at  her  service,  like 
the  faithful,  unexacting  love  of  a  dog.  After 
all,  it  might  be  a  relief  to  talk  to  him — there  are 
times  when  a  friend  is  a  good  safety-valve, — 
and  so,  somewhat  to  his  surprise,  she  said : 

"You  are  so  persistent  that  I  suppose  I 
might  as  well  go  with  you  as  have  you  follow- 
ing me. ' ' 

"Quite  as  well,"  he  answered,  while  he 
helped  her  into  the  car;  "for  you  couldn't  shake 
me  off,  you  know, — at  least  not  by  anything 
short  of  stamping  your  foot  and  telling  me  to 
begone,  as  you  used  to  do." 

"To  hear  you  talk,  one  would  think  I  was  an 
awful  spitfire!"  she  laughed;  and  then  added 
more  gravely:  "Perhaps  I  am  one.  At  least 
there  's  no  doubt  I  can  get  dreadfully  angry. ' ' 

Selwyn  nodded  without  looking  at  her. 

' '  Oh,  I  know  that ! "  he  said.  ' '  I  mean  I  know 
that  you  can  get  dreadfully  angry;  but  then,  it's 
only  when  you  have  good  reason  for  being  so." 

"I'm  not  sure  of  that,"  she  observed  hastily. 

"Z  am  sure  of  it,"  he  asserted  stoutly.  "I'll 
back  your  sense  of  justice  every  time.  At 
present,  now,  Ifm  certain  that  whoever  is  in 
fault,  it  isn't  you." 


OF  LATIKEXCE  263 

"  Bobby,  you  are  perfectly  ridiculous !' '  she 
told  him.  "And  yet  it  is  good  to  have  a  friend 
who  believes  in  one  even  to  the  extent  of 
ridiculous  loyalty. ' ' 

"I'm  sorry  you  think  it  ridiculous,' '  he  said. 
"But  at  least  I'm  glad  that  you  believe  in  the 
loyalty.  And  now,  what's  the  matter?  Who 
has  disgusted  and  disappointed  you  ? ' ' 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

Something  in  her  tone  made  him  turn  and 
glance  curiously  at  her. 

"You  don't  mean — Laurence  Desmond?"  he 
exclaimed  with  quick  intuition. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "I  mean  Laurence 
Desmond.  Bobby,  we've  all  liked  him  very 
much. ' ' 

"We  certainly  have,"  Bobby  assented. 

"But  I  am  afraid  that  he  doesn't  deserve  our 
liking  or  our  confidence, ' '  she  went  on.  ' '  Quite 
accidentally  I  have  discovered  something  which 
has  altogether  changed  my  opinion  with  regard 
to  him. ' ' 

Selwyn  did  not  answer  immediately.  They 
had  left  the  grounds  of  Hillcrest,  and  were  run- 
ning at  the  moderate  rate  of  speed  which  he  had 
promised  along  the  highroad ;  and,  with  his  gaze 
fixed  ahead,  he  almost  appeared  for  an  instant 
not  to  hear.    Then  he  said  slowly : 

"It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  after  one 
has  given  one's  confidence  it's  well  to  be  cau- 


264  EDITH  CREIGHTOX'S  OPINION 

tious  about  withdrawing  it.  There  are  so  many 
possibilities  of  mistake  in  life,  you  know." 

"There's  no  possibility  of  mistake  in  this," 
she  returned.  ' '  I  have  had  an  instinct  from  the 
first  that  there  was  something  more  than  ordi- 
nary in  his  acquaintance  with  the  nurse. ' ' 

' '  The  nurse ! ' '  Selwyn  's  tone  showed  his  sur- 
prise. ' '  He 's  never  made  any  secret  of  the  fact 
that  he  met  her  in  the  railway  wreck — " 

' '  Oh,  yes ! ' '  Edith  broke  in  impatiently.  i  '  We 
have  all  heard  about  the  wreck,  and  her 
heroism,  and  so  on;  but  we  have  never  heard 
that  his  acquaintance  with  her  goes  very  much 
beyond  that.  Now,  I  think  it  would  have  been 
onlv  candid  to  mention  this  fact  before  he 
brought  her  to  Hillcrest." 

"But  he  didn't  bring  her.    Dr.  Glynn — " 

"Bobby,"  Miss  Creighton  interrupted 
loftily,  ' '  if  you  think  that  you  know  more  about 
the  matter  than  I  do,  there  is  really  no  need  for 
me  to  go  on." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Bobby  hastened  to 
declare ;  "but  we  know  that  Dr.  Glynn  did — " 

"Select  her  as  a  nurse?  Yes,  we  know  that. 
But  we  didn't  know  what  I  have  just  learned — 
that  she  really  came  at  Laurence  Desmond's 
solicitation,  and  because  he  promised  to  keep 
some  secret  which  makes  his  and  her  position 
with  us  a  false  one." 

"By  George!"  Mr.  Selwyn  xook  refuge  in 
his   invariable   ejaculation,   for   he   was   very 


OF  LAURENCE  265 

much  startled.  c  '  I  wonder, ' '  he  added  involun- 
tarily, "if  that  can  be  so?" 

"Bobby,  you  are  intolerable!  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  would  say  such  a  thing  if  I  were  not 
certain  of  it?" 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  that  you  are  certain  in  your 
own  mind!"  Bobby  explained.  "But  I  must 
think  there's  some  mistake.  Desmond's  not 
that  kind  of  fellow. ' ' 

"How  do  you  know  what  kind  of  fellow  he 
is  ?  "  Edith  demanded  trenchantly.  ' '  We  really 
know  little  or  nothing  about  him.  He  is  very 
pleasant  and — er — plausible.  I  believe  Irish- 
men mostly  are.  But  such  people  are  often 
insincere,  if  not  absolutely  false. ' ' 

Selwyn  shook  his  head  a  trifle  obstinately. 

"Desmond's  neither  insincere  nor  false,"  he 
said.  "I'm  confident  of  that.  There's  some 
mistake." 

' '  There 's  no  mistake,  I  tell  you ! ' '  Edith  cried 
irritably.  "How  can  you  suppose  I  would  say 
such  things  if  I  were  not  sure?" 

Selwyn  reduced  the  already  moderate  speed 
of  the  car  until  it  almost  stopped,  as  he  turned 
toward  her. 

"How  are  you  sure?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"I  am  sure  because  I  heard  the  facts  I  have 
stated  from  their  own  lips,"  she  answered.  "I 
suppose  you  will  ask  how  I  came  to  hear  them, 
so  I  will  tell  you  exactly.  It  was  an  hour  or 
two  ago  that  I  went  to  Uncle  George's  room. 


266         EDITH  CREIGHTOX'S  OPINION 

I  knew  that  Laurence  Desmond  had  gone  up  a 
little  while  before ;  but  he  was  not  in  the  cham- 
ber when  I  entered,  and  neither  was  the  nurse. 
I  asked  Virgil  where  they  were,  and  he  said 
they  were  in  the  sitting-room.  There  did  not 
seem  any  reason  why  I  should  not  join  them, 
especially  since  I  wanted  to  ask  the  nurse  a 
question  or  two  about  Uncle  George.  So  I 
opened  the  door  between  the  rooms,  and  was 
about  to  draw  back  the  portiere  which  hangs 
over  it,  when  I  heard  them  talking  so  earnestly 
that  involuntarily  I  stopped  for  an  instant.  I 
was  struck  by  the  tone  of  the  voices,  even 
before  I  heard  any  words,  it  seemed  to  imply 
so  much  intimacy.  Then,  while  I  hesitated,  I 
caught  a  few  words.  I  heard  her  ask  if  he 
remembered  that  it  was  only  on  the  condition 
of  his  promise  to  keep  some  secret  about  her 
that  she  had  come  to  Hillcrest,  and  I  heard  him 
answer  that  they  were  both  in  a  false  position. 
I  was  so  dismayed  by  my  position  that  I  do  not 
remember  very  clearly  what  he  said,  except 
those  words.  But  about  them  I  could  not  be 
mistaken,  for  she  repeated  them;  she  said  that 
the  only  way  he  could  change  the  position  he 
considered  false  was  by  helping  her  to  get 
away. ' ' 

"And  he—  " 

"Said  he  would  'never  do  that.'  Then  I 
managed  to  close  the  door  noiselessly,  and  get 
away  myself.    That  is  all  I  know ;  and  of  course 


OF  LAUREXCE  267 

I  should  have  preferred  not  to  learn  it  in  such 
a  manner,  but  I  had  not  the  faintest  suspicion 
of  anything  between  them  when  I  opened  that 
door." 

i  i  Of  course  not. ' '  Selwyn  directed  his  atten- 
tion again  to  his  wheel.  "But  the  question  is, 
what  does  it  mean!  What  do  you  think  is 
between  thera?" 

i ' How  can  I  tell ? ' '  she  replied.  "It  is  not  a 
subject  that  I  care  to  speculate  about.  But  it 
throws — you  must  see  that  it  throws — a  very 
disagreeable  light  on  Laurence  Desmond's 
character  and  conduct.' ' 

"It  seems  hardly  fair  to  make  up  our  minds 
about  that  unless  we  know  a  little  more,"  Sel- 
wyn ventured.  "I  would  suggest  telling  him 
frankly  what  you  overheard,  and  asking  him  to 
explain  it. ' ' 

' '  Ask  him  to  explain  it !  I ! ' '  Edith  exclaimed 
haughtily.  "Lay  myself  open  to  the  charge  of 
eavesdropping ! ' ' 

"That's  nonsense,  you  know." 

"It  isn't  nonsense.  The  fact  that  I  over- 
heard what  was  not  intended  for  me  to  hear 
would  appear  to  prove  it.  Then  it's  really  none 
of  my  business  to  inquire  what  his  relations 
with  this  girl  may  be. ' ' 

"I  don't  believe  he  has  any  relations  with 
her  that  he  would  hesitate  to  explain,"  Bobby 
said  stoutly. 

"Oh,  you  don't?"  Miss  Creighton's  tone  was 


268         EDITH  CBEIGHTOX'S  OPINION 

extremely  crisp.  "Then  how  would  yon  ac- 
count for  his  statement  about  the  false  position 
in  which  he  is  placed?" 

Selwyn  shook  his  head.  "I  can't  account  for 
it,"  he  said.  "But  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  ask 
him  plainly  what  he  meant." 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  being  afraid,"  Edith 
told  him  loftily,  "but  of  not  condescending  to 
inquire  into  what  doesn't  concern  one.  After 
what  I  heard,  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  there 
is  some  tie  between  the  nurse  and  himself. 
They  may  be — married. ' ' 

This  was  a  suggestion  which,  metaphorically 
speaking,  knocked  Bobby  flat.  He  stared  wide- 
eyed  for  a  moment,  and  then — 

' '  Married ! "  he  gasped.  ' '  I  never  thought  of 
that." 

"I  suppose  not,"  Edith  answered.  "But 
when  one  does  think  of  it,  everything  seems  to 
concur  to  make  it  probable.  They  arrived  to- 
gether, on  the  same  train — " 

"But  Desmond  said — " 

' '  Kindly  be  quiet  until  I  finish !  They  arrived 
on  the  same  train;  and,  whether  married  or 
merely  engaged,  we  may  reasonably  suppose 
that  they  decided  to  wait  until  Laurence  could 
break  the  matter  to  Uncle  George ;  so  she  went 
to  the  hospital,  while  he  came  here.  What  are 
you  shaking  your  head  in  that  ridiculous  man- 
ner for?" 

"Because  you  are  letting  your  imagination 


OF  LAURENCE  269 

run  away  with  you.  The  thing's  impossible. 
Desmond  couldn't  have  been  here  all  this  time 
in  such  a  position,  and  never  said  a  word  to  the 
Judge,  who  would  have  been  so  keenly  hurt  by 
his  lack  of  confidence. ' ' 

"How  can  you  be  so  absurd  as  to  say  in  that 
positive  manner  that  he  couldn't  have  done  it, 
when  you  don 't  know  what  he  could  or  couldn  't 
have  doner'  Edith  demanded  exasperatedly. 
"I  have  reminded  you  that  he  is  a  stranger  to 
us." 

"Yes,  he's  a  stranger,"  Selwyn  admitted; 
"but  I'm  quite  sure  he's  a  gentleman.  And — 
women  don 't  always  understand — but  there  are 
some  things  a  gentleman  can't  do." 

"You  are  as  flattering  as  you  are  lucid," 
Edith  informed  him  sarcastically.  "What  is 
the  particular  thing  to  which  you  have  ref- 
erence at  present  that  a  gentleman  couldn't 
do?" 

"He  couldn't,"  Bobby  answered  quietly, 
"have  occupied  the  position  that  Desmond  has 
toward  you,  if  he  were,  as  you  suppose,  either 
married  or  engaged  to  another  woman." 

"The  position  toward  me/"  The  blood  flew 
to  Miss  Creighton's  face  and  fire  flashed  from 
her  eyes.  "Bobby,  your  stupidity  is  past  endur- 
ance! What  position  do  you  imagine  Lau- 
rence Desmond  to  have  occupied  toward  me?" 

"Well,"  Bobby  returned,  "it's  not  very  hard 
to  define.    I  should  say  that  he  was  in  the  same 


270  EDITH  CREIGHTON'S  OPINION 

boat  with  the  rest  of  us,  who  were  your  adorers 
and  suitors  before  he  came,  but  that  his  chance 
of  success  has — er — appeared  to  be  better  than 
ours." 

"In  other  words"  (Miss  Creighton's  tones 
were  icy  now),  "you  have  paid  me  the  high 
compliment  of  thinking  that  I  was  prepared  to 
accept  a  man  who  entered  into  my  life  only  a 
few  weeks  ago,  and  of  whom  I  know  little  or 
nothing,  because,  I  suppose,  he  is  the  heir  of 
Hillcrest." 

"Edith,  you  know  that  is  absurd!  No  one 
would  ever  think  such  a  thing  as  that  of  you. 
But  there's  no  denying  that  he  is  very  attract- 
ive, and  you've  seemed  to  like  him  very  much." 

"I  do  like  him — I  mean  I  have  liked  him, — 
but  surely  one  may  like  a  man  without  being 
readv  to  marry  him." 

"Oh,  yes!"  (Bobby's  assent  was  unqualified 
now).  "You  are  apparently  able  to  like  any 
number  of  men  without  being  ready  to  marry 
them. ' ' 

Edith  threw  back  her  head,  and  in  a  gay  peal 
of  laughter  her  bad  temper  seemed  to 
evaporate. 

"You  are  very  absurd,"  she  remarked. 
' '  But,  after  all,  you  're  not  far  wrong.  I  do  like 
a  good  many  men  without  entertaining  the 
faintest  idea  of  marrying  any  one  of  them.  I 
can't  say"  (the  note  of  modernity  showed  itself 
now  in  her  candor)  "what  idea  of  the  land  I 


OF  LAUBENCE  271 

might  in  time  have  come  to  entertain  with 
regard  to  Laurence  Desmond,  if  he  had  really 
joined  the  ranks  of  my — what  was  it? — adorers 
and  suitors? — but  he  never  has.  Of  course  we 
have  both  seen  what  mamma  and  Uncle  George 
hope  for — " 

" Plain  as  a  pikestaff!"  Bobby  growled. 

"But  there  hasn't  been  anything  between  us 
up  to  this  time  except  pleasant  camaraderie. 
Nevertheless,  although  I  personally  have  no 
right  to  complain,  I  feel  that  he  hasn't  acted 
well  in  bringing  this  girl  here  in  some  false 
position;  indeed  I  am,  as  I  said  at  first,  thor- 
oughly disgusted  and  disappointed  in  him. ' ' 

"It  doesn't  look  well  on  the  surface,"  Bobby 
found  himself  forced  to  agree ;  ' '  but  I  think  he 
ought  to  be  given  a  chance  to  explain.  Perhaps 
you'd  let  me  speak  to  him — " 

"Certainly  not,"  Edith  interrupted  with 
emphasis.  "What  I  have  told  you  is  in  strict 
confidence,  and  I  shall  never  forgive  you  if  you 
mention  the  subject  to  him." 

"I  shall  not  mention  it  without  your  permis- 
sion," Bobby  assured  her.  "But  I  believe  you 
are  wrong,  quite  wrong,  in  making  a  mystery 
of  the  matter." 

And  thus  did  two  masculine  opinions  of 
feminine  conduct  closely  coincide  in  sentiment 
and  expression. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  JUDGE  ASKS  MISS  LANDON'S  NAME 

Desmond's  words,  uttered  as  he  left  his 
uncle's  chamber,  remained  with  Hester  Landon 
after  the  door  had  closed  upon  his  exit.  "You 
see  how  impossible  it  is  for  you  to  think  of 
leaving  him!"  he  had  said;  and  her  sinking 
heart  seemed  to  echo  the  sentence,  while  she 
felt  the  clasp  of  the  hand  which  clung  to  hers, 
and  acknowledged  the  irresistible  appeal  made 
by  weakness  and  dependence.  ' '  It  was  madness 
to  have  come!"  she  told  herself;  but,  having 
come,  she  recognized  that  it  was  indeed  impos- 
sible for  her  to  go  away  without  doing  serious 
harm  to  the  patient  placed  in  her  charge, 
against  which  her  professional  conscience 
protested. 

And  yet,  as  she  presently  sat  on  the  side  of 
the  bed  gazing  at  him — for  even  when  he 
dropped  again  into  partial  unconsciousness  he 
still  kept  hold  of  her  hand,  as  if  fearful  of  her 
leaving  him, — the  thought  flashed  upon  her  that 
if  she  desired  a  means  of  revenge  for  the  injury 
inflicted  upon  her  father,  it  was  here  within  her 
reach.  Remembering  the  long  pain,  the  con- 
demnation   and    injustice    which    had    over- 

272 


MISS  LAXDOX'S  NAME  273 

shadowed  his  life,  she  had  often  said  to  herself 
with  the  bitterness  of  impotent  passion:  "Oh, 
if  I  could  only  repay  suffering  with  suffering, 
if  I  could  only  stretch  to  breaking  the  heart- 
strings of  the  father  who  dealt  so  sternly  with 
him,  I  should  be  glad — glad!'  Nothing  had 
seemed  less  possible  than  that  she  would  ever 
be  able  to  do  this ;  yet  now  by  a  strange  chance 
of  fate — so  she  put  it  to  herself — the  opportu- 
nity was  given,  was  literally  here  in  her  hand. 
She  looked  down  at  that  hand,  at  the  frail 
fingers  which  clung  to  it,  and  was  conscious  of 
a  certain  fascination  in  the  thought  that  she 
had  onlv  to  withdraw  her  hand,  withdraw  her 
presence,  in  order  to  inflict  keen  and  lasting 
pain.  The  temptation  to  seize  the  opportunity 
thus  presented  almost  overwhelmed  her.  "I 
have  no  right  to  be  here — where  lie  was  cast 
out — unless  I  do  it ! ' '  she  thought.  ' '  I  can  have 
been  brought  here  for  no  other  purpose ! ' '  Yet 
even  as  she  told  herself  this,  some  other  words 
recurred  to  her  memory:  "An  opportunity  to 
do  something  so  fine  that,  if  you  lose  it,  you  will 
never  cease  in  time,  or  perhaps  in  eternity,  to 
regret  it."  Would  this  be  the  "something  so 
fine"  which  she  could  never  cease  to  regret? 
And  then :  "It  is  not  possible  that  nature  made 
you  in  the  mould  it  has  without  giving  you  the 
power  to  appreciate  the  highest  possibilities  in 
human  conduct.  And  here  is  a  possibility  so 
high  that  it  fairly  dazzles  one. ' ' 


274  THE  JUDGE  ASKS 

Could  that  be  said  of  the  possibility  she  was 
now  considering, — the  possibility  of  inflicting 
pain  on  helpless  weakness!  And  what  was  it 
that  had  been  suggested  she  might  do,  "if  she 
were  great  enough  for  it!"  Was  it  not  to  for- 
give, as  Harry  Wargrave  himself  might  have 
wished  to  forgive,  the  father  who  had  banished 
him!  But  all  the  energy  of  her  passionate 
spirit  rose  up  to  repudiate  this.  "No,"  she 
cried  inwardly,  "I  am  not  capable  of  that!  I 
do  not  even  wish  to  be  capable  of  it!  I  long, 
as  I  have  always  longed,  to  return  pain  for 
pain, — to  make  the  man  who  wronged  him  suf- 
fer as  he  suffered.  But  it  must  be  intelligent 
suffering,  not  that  of  imbecile  weakness.  If  I 
went  away  now,  he  would  indeed  suffer,  but  he 
would  not  understand;  and  I  want  him  to 
understand  fully.  The  only  hope  that  he  will 
ever  do  so  rests  in  his  recovery.  I  must  help 
him  to  get  well,  as  far  as  he  can  ever  be  well 
again ;  and  then,  when  he  is  able  to  comprehend, 
I  will  strike  mv  blow  and  go. " 

With  a  sense  of  sustaining  power  in  the 
resolution,  she  drew  her  hand  gently  from  the 
fingers  which  still  clung  to  it;  and,  when  the 
eyes  opened  appealingiy  on  her  face,  she  bent 
down  and  spoke  in  the  quiet  tones  that  a  nurse 
soon  learns  to  make  so  effective. 

"Don't  be  afraid!"  she  said.  "I  shall  not 
leave  you, — I  shall  not  go  away  while  you  need 
me. ' ' 


MISS  LANDOJSPS  NAME  275 

She  hardly  expected  that  the  sense  of  the 
words  would  penetrate  to  the  clouded  brain,  but 
relied  on  the  tranquillizing  effect  of  the  tone ; 
so  her  surprise  was  great  when  Judge  War- 
grave  answered,  more  clearly  than  he  had 
spoken  since  his  seizure : 

"I  need  you  always,"  he  said,  articulating 
with  difficulty,  yet  distinctly. 

"Yes,"  she  assented  hastily.  "Yes,  I  under- 
stand.   Have  no  fear  of  my  leaving  you — now. ' ' 

She  repeated  the  assurance  because  there 
was  perceptible  anxiety  in  the  eyes  which  con- 
tinued to  regard  her  intently.  Then  his  hand 
went  out  again  and  caught  hers,  while  the  stam- 
mering tongue,  with  the  same  pathetic  difficulty 
of  utterance,  demanded : 

"You  are  Maria,  are  you  not!" 

It  was  a  startling  inquiry ;  for  she  recognized 
that  the  mysterious  mist  which  obscured  the 
mental  faculties  was  clearing  away,  that  the 
question  meant  doubt,  and  that  to  answer  it 
was  extremely  difficult.  While  she  hesitated 
what  to  say,  her  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of 
the  opening  door  behind  her;  and  she  turned, 
with  a  great  sense  of  relief,  to  see  Dr.  Glynn 
and  Mrs.  Creighton  entering  the  room.  Dis- 
engaging her  hand  quickly,  she  went  forward  to 
meet  them. 

"Well,  nurse,"  (the  doctor's  cheerful  voice 
filled  the  quiet  chamber),  "how  is  our 
patient?" 


276  THE  JUDGE  ASKS 

"There  seems  a  decided  improvement  in  his 
condition,  doctor, "  she  answered  in  low,  pro- 
fessional tones.  "He  has  jnst  been  speaking 
quite  intelligibly.  The  power  of  speech  is  very 
much  improved,  and  his  mind  seems  growing 
clearer.  He  has  just  asked"  (her  voice  dropped 
lower  still)  "if  I  am  Maria." 

"Ah!"  The  doctor's  interest  was  alert. 
"And  you  told  him — ?" 

"I  didn't  tell  him  anything,  for  you  came  in 
at  the  moment.  But  I  was  very  much  in  doubt 
what  I  should  tell  him. ' ' 

"It  will  be  well  to  evade  an  answer  for  some 
time  yet,"  Dr.  Glynn  observed  thoughtfully. 
"The  impression  that  you  are  Maria  has  done 
him  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  we  had  better  let 
him  come  gradually  to  the  knowledge  of  who 
you  really  are.  If  the  mind  is  clearing,  the 
knowledge  will  come.  But  we  do  not  wish  it  to 
be  in  the  nature  of  a  shock. ' ' 

"Direct  questions  are  difficult  to  evade,"  the 
nurse  suggested. 

"Well,  well,  111  see  what  his  condition  is," 
the  doctor  said.  "He  has  probably  forgotten 
all  about  the  question  by  this  time." 

He  moved  forward  as  he  spoke;  and,  ap- 
proaching the  bed,  took  the  hand  of  the  old 
man,  who  looked  up  at  him  with  familiar  keen- 
ness in  his  glance. 

"How  are  you,  Judge?"  he  asked.  "I  think 
that  you  are  much  better. ' ' 


MISS  LANDON'S  NAME  277 

"Yes"  (the  answer  came  distinct,  though 
with  slow  and  difficult  articulation),  "I  am 
better." 

"Good, — very  good!"  The  doctor  was 
clearly  as  much  surprised  as  pleased.  "You 
have  improved  immensely.  We'll  soon  have 
you  on  your  feet  again.  Mrs.  Creighton,  do 
you  hear  how  well  the  Judge  is  speaking ! ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  I  hear!"  Mrs.  Creighton  replied 
eagerly.  She,  too,  leaned  over  the  bed.  "Dear 
brother,"  she  cried,  "it  is  such  a  happiness  to 
know  that  vou  are  so  much  better ! ' ' 

The  Judge  regarded  her  without  speaking  for 
a  minute,  as  if  settling  in  his  mind  who  she  was ; 
and  then,  extending  one  hand,  he  caught  her 
wrist,  while  with  the  other  he  pointed  to  the 
nurse,  who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"Who  is  that?"  he  inquired. 

If  his  question  of  a  few  minutes  earlier  had 
startled  the  nurse,  this  most  unexpected  and 
apparently  altogether  intelligent  inquiry  had  a 
still  more  startling  effect  on  Mrs.  Creighton. 
She  looked  appealingiy,  almost  wildly,  at  the 
doctor,  and  it  was  he  who  answered : 

"That  is  some  one  who  is  here  to  help  you 
get  well,  Judge.  You  mustn't  trouble  about 
anything  else." 

"What's  her  name?" 

It  was  the  old  peremptory  accent,  the  imper- 
ative tone  that  no  one  had  ever  disobeyed ;  and 
the  doctor  cleared  his  throat  nervously  before 


278  THE  JUDGE  ASKS 

he  tried  the  policy  of  evasion  which  he  had 
recommended. 

1 '  Never  mind  abont  her  name, ' '  he  answered. 
"As  I've  just  said,  she's  here  to  help  yon  get 
well,  and  yon  mustn't  excite  yourself — " 

He  paused  in  dismay ;  for  the  Judge  abruptly 
lifted  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  and,  with 
flashing  eyes,  said  sternly,  though  with  the 
same  difficult  utterance : 

"Don't  talk  to  me  so!  I'm  not — imbecile. 
She's  not  Maria — I  know  that  now, — Maria's 
dead.     Who  is  she?" 

"Tell  him,  doctor, — tell  him!"  Mrs.  Creigh- 
ton  urged  in  a  whisper ;  while  Hester  stood  like 
a  statue,  challenging  as  it  were  the  agonized 
inquiry  of  the  awakening  brain,  the  gaze  of  the 
eyes  so  persistently  fastened  on  her. 

"She's  a  nurse  who  is  here  to  take  care  of 
you,  as  I've  been  telling  you,"  the  doctor 
replied.  ' '  You  can  call  her  what  you  like — I  'm 
sure  she  won't  object, — but  her  name  is  Miss 
Lanclon. ' ' 

"What?" 

"Lanclon.  You've  heard  it  before?"  (The 
Judge  nodded.)  "It  was  connected  with  the 
railway  wreck, — don't  you  remember  the  rail- 
way wreck  that  young  Desmond  was  in?  This 
was  the  nurse  who  was  the  heroine  of  the 
occasion,  and  helped  to  save  so  many  lives. 
We've  brought  her  now  to  employ  her  skill  in 
helping  you  to  get  well  again;  and  if  you  con- 


MISS  LANDOX'S  XAME  279 

tinue  to  improve  as  you've  improved  since  I 
saw  you  last — hallo !  This  is  what  I  expected ! 
A  stimulant,  Miss  Landon, — quick!" 

For  the  Judge  had  suddenly  fallen  back  on 
his  pillows,  white  as  they,  and  the  lids  closed 
over  his  eyes.  The  doctor  shook  his  head  as 
he  laid  his  fingers  on  the  pulse,  while  the  nurse 
brought  the  stimulant  for  which  he  had  called. 

"Weak  heart-action,"  he  said  in  a  low  aside 
to  Mrs.  Creighton.  ' '  That  is  where  the  greatest 
danger  lies.  I  was  afraid  of  this  explanation. 
But  the  brain  had  cleared  so  wonderfully  that 
it  couldn  't  be  avoided.  Happily,  it  is  over  now ; 
and  when  he  recovers  from  the  effect  of  the 
shock,  he  will  probably  be  more  like  himself 
than  we  have  seen  him  since  his  seizure." 

"But  mil  he  remember,  do  you  think,  what 
you  have  told  him?"  Mrs.  Creighton  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  will  remember!"  the  doctor 
answered.  "The  cloud  over  the  mind  is  pass- 
ing off,  and  he  will  not  mistake  one  person  for 
another  again,  nor  forget  what  he  has  heard. 
There  will  no  doubt  continue  to  be  great  dif- 
ficulty of  speech,  especially  with  regard  to 
names;  but  otherwise  I  look  now  for  a  rapid 
improvement  in  his  condition." 

This  prediction  was  so  far  justified  that 
within  a  day  or  two  Judge  Wargrave  was  able 
to  be  wheeled  in  his  winged  chair  into  the 
sitting-room,  where  the  members  of  the  house- 
hold eagerly  assured  him  that  he  was  "just  like 


280  THE  JUDGE  ASKS 

himself ,' '  while  sadly  acknowledging  to  one 
another  how  greatly  he  was  changed  since  he 
had  sat  there  before.  It  was  not  only  that  he 
was  much  aged  and  very  frail  in  appearance — 
his  face  like  ivory  carving  in  its  paleness,  his 
eyes  dull  and  absent  in  expression, — but  the 
cloud  on  the  mind  was  only  partially  lifted; 
and  the  mental  faculties,  once  so  keenly  alert, 
were  now  only  capable  of  slight  exertion.  He 
indeed  recognized  every  one  who  approached 
him,  although  unable  to  call  any  one  by  name; 
but  they  soon  learned  that  intercourse  in  any 
real  sense  was  impossible.  He  not  only  spoke 
with  difficulty,  slowly  and  indistinctly,  confus- 
ing words  so  that  his  meaning  was  not  clear, 
but  his  pride  suffered  so  much  under  this 
infirmity  that,  when  he  failed  to  make  himself 
understood,  he  would  lift  his  hand  with  a  tragic 
gesture  of  despair,  and  sink  into  silence  from 
which  nothing  could  rouse  him. 

At  such  times  every  one  turned  instinctively 
to  the  nurse,  who  understood  him  best,  and  who 
could  almost  always  divine  and  interpret  his 
meaning.  Whether  or  not  he  remembered  what 
he  had  been  told  concerning  her,  it  was  at  least 
clear  that  his  dependence  upon  her  increased  as 
he  regained  intelligence.  He  was  ill  at  ease 
whenever  she  was  absent,  and  his  welcome 
when  she  returned  from  exercise  or  rest  was 
pathetic  in  its  eagerness.  He  had  apparently 
ceased  to  confuse  her  with  his  dead  wife,  for  he 


MISS  LAXDOX'S  NAME  281 

did  not  now  call  her  by  the  only  name  his  lips 
were  able  to  pronounce;  but  his  perception  of 
the  likeness  which  had  first  startled  his  fac- 
ulties did  not  grow  less.  It  arrested  his  atten- 
tion continually;  and  she  often  observed  him 
staring  at  her  with  a  strange,  intent,  startled 
gaze,  as  if  doubting  who  she  was.  At  such 
times — especially  if  they  were  alone — she  found 
herself  trembling  a  little.  Instinct  told  her  that 
a  question  was  forming  in  his  mind  which  the 
halting  tongue  would  some  day  make  an  effort 
to  ask,  and  then — what  would  she  answer? 

She  was  meditating  upon  this  one  day  as  she 
walked  among  the  fragrant  alleys  of  the  rose- 
garden,  while  the  sun  was  sinking — a  great  red 
ball,  wrapped  in  the  Indian  summer  haze — 
down  the  western  sky.  In  the  soft  radiance, 
her  slender,  white-clad  figure  moved  with 
charming  effect  among  the  tall,  green  shrubs 
and  hedges;  and  as  Desmond  approached  her 
he  was  struck,  as  often  before,  by  the  quality 
of  delicate  grace,  of  something  spiritual  and 
exquisite,  which  her  aspect  breathed,  and  which 
seemed  peculiarly  expressed  in  her  clear,  pale 
skin  and  lucid  eyes.  His  own  eyes  were  smiling 
as  he  came  toward  her  with  outstretched  hand. 

' '  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  here ! "  he  said.  l i  I 
hastened  as  soon  as  I  caught  sight  of  you  from 
the  other  side  of  the  river." 

She  glanced  out  across  the  smiling  valley, 


282  THE  JUDGE  ASKS 

through  which  the  stream,  shining  now  with 
sunset  tints,  flowed  in  its  lovely  current. 

"Were  you  the  horseman  whom  I  saw  across 
the  river  a  few  minutes  ago  f ' '  she  asked.  ' '  You 
have  certainly  made  haste,  to  reach  here  so 
quickly. ' ' 

' i  I  would  have  made  even  more  haste  if  pos- 
sible/ '  he  said,  "because  I  feared  to  find  you 
gone.  You  have  a  most  wonderful  faculty  of 
disappearing.  I  hardly  like  to  charge  you  with 
deliberately  avoiding  me — it  seems  perhaps  to 
imply  an  undue  opinion  of  my  own  importance, 
— but  it  has  been  rather  remarkable,  the  way 
in  which  I  have  failed  to  secure  any  opportunity 
to  speak  to  you  of  late." 

"Whether  it  argues  an  undue  opinion  of 
your  own  importance  or  not,"  she  said,  "it  is 
quite  true  that  I  have  avoided  you.  I  don't 
know  whether  or  not  you  have  observed  it,  but 
I  think  Miss  Creighton  suspects  something — 
and  so  I  have  thought  it  best  to  see  as  little  of 
you  as  possible." 

' '  Oh,  yes ! "  he  replied, ' '  I  am  well  aware  that 
she  suspects  something;  and  I  have  conse- 
quently avoided  her  as  much  as  you  have 
avoided  me.  For,  as  I  pointed  out  to  you  when 
we  talked  together  last,  my  position  is  an 
extremely  difficult  one. ' ' 

"I  think  I  pointed  out  on  the  same  occasion 
that  the  difficulty  was  entirely  of  your  own 
creating." 


MISS  LAXDOX'S  NAME  283 

"That  is  quite  true,"  he  admitted;  "and  I 
should  be  willing  to  accept  the  difficulty  and  all 
that  may  arise  from  it,  if  there  were  any  neces- 
sity for  the  situation.  But  there  really  isn't, 
you  know. ' ' 

"Pardon  me!  I  don't  know  anything  of  the 
kind. ' ' 

"Then  that  is  because  you  refuse  to  open 
your  mind  to  conviction,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 
"So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  seems  to  me  every 
day  more  incredible — and  may  I  say  absurd ? — 
that  you  should  be  here  as  a  professional 
nurse. ' ' 

"You  may,"  she  told  him  quietly,  "call  it 
what  you  like ;  but  shall  I  remind  you  again  that 
the  absurdity  is  as  much  due  to  your  insistence 
as  to  my  weakness?" 

"I  acknowledge  the  insistence,"  he  said, 
"but  I  must  take  issue  with  vou  about  the  weak- 
ness.  I  have  never  seen  any  one  display  as 
much  strength  as  you  have  done  in  this  trying 
situation — " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"It  was  not  strength  which  I  displayed  when 
I  let  you  persuade  me  against  my  judgment  into 
coming  here,"  she  said.  "And  it  is  not 
strength  that  I  am  displaying  in  remaining 
now.  It  is  simply  weakness, — weakness  for 
which  I  despise  myself. ' ' 

He  was  so  unprepared  for  the  sudden  passion 
which  shook  her  voice  as  she  uttered  the  last 


284  THE  JUDGE  ASKS 

words  that  lie  paused  abruptly,  and,  turning, 
faced  her. 

"AYhat  does  that  mean?"  he  asked.  "You 
give  me  the  impression  of  being  so  reasonable, 
so  free  from  emotional  excess  of  any  kind,  that 
I  can  not  understand  what  you  possibly  find  to 
despise  where  /  see  cause  only  for  admiration. ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  as  he  stood  in  the  path 
before  her,  and  he  read  in  her  eves — those  clear 
eyes  which  in  her  case  were  truly  "windows  of 
the  soul" — all  the  deep  self -scorn  of  which  she 
spoke. 

"You  see  matter  for  admiration,"  she  told 
him,  "because  you  imagine  that  I  was  in- 
fluenced to  come  here  by  the  motives  you  put 
before  me  when  you  begged  me  to  come.  But 
you  must  understand,  once  for  all,  that  those 
motives  did  not  move  me.  I  had  no  desire  to 
seize  the  opportunity  to  render  good  for  evil, 
as  you  suggested.  On  the  contrary,  I  came 
because  I  hoped  that  I  might  be  able  to  find  a 
means  of  inflicting  suffering  on  one  who  had 
been  so  cruel,  so  merciless — " 

"No!"  Desmond  put  out  his  hand  and 
caught  hers,  in  the  force  of  his  denial.  "You 
may  have  dreamed  of  such  a  thing,  but  you 
don't  know  your  own  nature.  You  could  not 
doit." 

She  made  no  effort  to  withdraw  her  hand 
from  his  grasp,  as  she  stood  still,  looking  up 
at  him,  while  something  of  the  wonder  he  had 


MISS  LANDON'S  NAME  285 

roused  in  her  from  the  first  came  into  her 
gaze. 

"I  don't  know  how  yon  found  it  out,"  she 
said,  "but  you  are  right — I  can't  do  it." 

"No,"  he  said  again — in  assent  rather  than 
in  denial  now, — "you  can't  do  it.  And  it  is 
because  you  can't  that  you  scorn  yourself? 
How  strange ! ' ' 

"It  is  not  strange  at  all,"  she  returned. 
"Would  you  not  scorn  yourself  if  you  found 
weakness  where  you  had  thought  to  find 
strength, — pity,  even  something  like  tender- 
ness, where  there  should  be  only  the  stern 
remembrance  of  ineffaceable  wrong?  How  does 
it  change  what  he  has  done  that  he  is  old,  feeble, 
stricken  now?  And  yet  when  I  go  in  to  him  (as 
I  presently  shall  go),  and  he  looks  at  me  with 
that  pathetic  smile  of  welcome,  I  despise  myself 
that  my  heart  melts  and  I  have  no  courage — no 
courage — " 

"Ah,  what  injustice  you  are  doing  yourself! 
You  have  courage  for  the  greatest  opportunity 
that,  in  my  knowledge,  has  ever  been  given  to 
any  one — to  render  service  for  injury,  to  return 
benefit  for  wrong. ' ' 

"No,  no !"  She  tore  her  hand  from  his  clasp. 
"You  must  not  give  me  credit  for  such  feelings. 
I  tell  you  again  that  I  did  not  come  here  for 
that,  but  for  something  very  different.  Yet  day 
by  day  this  weakness  has  invaded  me,  until  now 
I  have  no  strength  to  do  what  I  had  resolved 


286  MISS  LANDOX'S  NAME 

upon,  and  I  hesitate  even  to  strike  the  one  blow 
which  is  still  in  my  power, — the  blow  of  going 
away. ' ' 

' '  I  believe  it  is  a  blow  which  wonld  kill  him, ' ' 
Desmond  said.  "You  have  just  spoken  of  his 
pathetic  pleasure  in  your  return  to  him.  Re- 
member that  it  is  absolutely  the  only  pleasure 
that  he  has  now ;  that  his  dependence  upon  you 
in  every  way  is  so  great  that  to  fill  your  place 
even  in  the  matter  of  service  would  be  impos- 
sible. He  cares  for  no  society  except  yours, — 
not  even  the  society  of  those  whom  he  has 
known  longest  and  loved  best.  And  I  can  not 
but  believe  that  some  mysterious  instinct  tells 
him  who  you  are.  If  I  could  only  induce  you  to 
tell  him  yourself — " 

"Don't  try  to  induce  me  to  do  that,"  she 
warned;  "because  I  could  tell  him  in  only  one 
way — the  way  I  have  resolved  upon, — and  that 
you  would  not  desire.  It  is  what  I  have  grown 
too  weak  to  do."  She  paused,  and  her  gaze 
turned  away,  out  over  the  wide  tranquil  scene 
of  valley  and  hills  and  woods  toward  the  sink- 
ing sun.  "His  life  is  like  that,"  she  said: 
i '  sinking  fast  into  the  night  that  awaits  all,  and 
one  couldn't — oh,  no,  one  couldn't  add  a  pang 
to  that  passage,  whatever  weakness  the  failure 
implies!  Now  I  must  go.  No,  I  can't  stay  a 
moment  longer.  He  will  be  watching  anxiously 
for  me.    Good-bye ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PAEDOX  AND  LOVE 

When  Hester  Landon  returned  to  the  house, 
and,  passing  with  her  light,  noiseless  step  up- 
stairs, opened  the  door  of  the  now  familiar 
sitting-room,  she  found  it  filled  with  the  sunset 
glow  which  poured  in  through  the  wide  western 
windows.  And  silhouetted  against  this  glow 
was  the  figure  of  the  Judge,  seated  in  his  great 
chair,  but  bending  forward  in  an  attitude  of 
strained  expectancy. 

Her  heart  smote  her ;  for  she  knew  that  this 
expectancy,  this  waiting  was  for  her;  and  she 
forgot  everything  except  the  impulse  which  had 
made  her  a  nurse — the  impulse  to  heal  and  help 
those  who  suffered, — when  she  came  forward 
and  saw  the  pleasure  which  lighted  up  the  sad 
old  face  at  sight  of  her.  As  he  eagerly  held  out 
his  hand,  she  said  gently : 

"I  am  afraid  you  have  wanted  me,  that  I 
have  been  away  too  long!" 

"No,"  he  answered — and  she  was  instantly 
struck  by  the  clearness  of  his  enunciation,  as 
if  there  had  been  a  sudden  return  of  the  power 
of  speech, — "you  have  not  been  long;  but  I 

287 


288  PARDON  AND  LOVE 

always  want  you,  and  I  have  been  impatient 
because  I  have  remembered  something — " 

"Yes?"  She  spoke  softly,  encouragingly,  as 
he  halted;  the  distressed  look,  which  had  now 
become  habitual,  deepening  on  his  face.  "  It  is 
something  in  which  you  wish  me  to  help  you ! ' ' 

"To  help  me,  yes."  The  hand  which  still 
held  hers  tightened  its  clasp,  while  the  other 
hand  lifted  and  pointed  toward  the  desk.  "  It  is 
there,"  he  said, — "a  letter — I  remember  now, 
— and  I  must  find  it.    A  letter — " 

Then  Hester  began  to  tremble;  for  she  had 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  letter  of  which 
he  spoke  was  that  which  had  been  the  cause  of 
his  illness, — the  letter  that  had  struck  him  down 
once,  and  the  mere  sight  of  which,  her  profes- 
sional judgment  told  her,  might  strike  him 
down  again — this  time  to  death.  It  was  part  of 
the  weakness  which  had  assailed  her,  the  incon- 
sistency of  which  she  had  just  spoken  to  Des- 
mond in  the  garden,  that  she  felt  as  if  it  were 
more  than  she  could  bear,  to  stand  by  and  watch 
him  receive  another  blow  from  the  weapon  she 
had  forged ;  and  so  she  said  hastily : 

"I  would  not  trouble  about  that  just  now. 
When  you  are  better,  we  will  look  for  the — 
letter.  But  not  now.  You  are  not  yet  well 
enough. ' ' 

"I  shall  never  be  better."  Again  she  was 
startled  by  the  clearness  of  his  utterance,  as  if 
the  mind,  that  had  dominated  the  body  through- 


PARDON  AND  LOVE  289 

out  all  his  life,  was  determined  to  assert  its 
mastery  over  the  weak  and  failing  powers  to 
the  end.  "Another  stroke  may  come.  I  have 
had  a  stroke,  haven't  I?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "That  is  what  it  is 
called." 

"Well,  you  know  what  that  means.  Another 
may  come  any  day,  any  hour;  and  then  death, 
or  worse  than  death." 

"Yes,"  she  acknowledged  again  (for  she 
recognized  that,  in  the  light  of  this  sudden 
clearing  of  the  mental  faculties,  this  grasp  of 
the  situation  by  the  mind  which  a  little  while 
before  had  been  so  clouded,  she  dared  not 
attempt  evasion  of  the  truth);  "that  may  be. 
But,  because  it  may  be,  you  must  take  no  risk 
that  might  bring  on  such  a  condition.  You  must 
wait,  you  must  grow  stronger,  before  you  can 
safely  make  any  exertion,  or  do  anything  to 
cause  mental  agitation." 

But  even  as  she  talked  she  saw  that  her  words 
hardly  reached  him,  so  intent  was  he  upon  the 
object  which  he  had  in  view.  His  eyes,  full  of 
imploring  eagerness,  were  fastened  on  her 
face ;  his  hand  still  clasped  hers  tightly. 

"I  can't  wait!"  he  said.  "There  is  some- 
thing which  must  be  done.  I  don't  know  what 
it  is  until  I  see  the  letter;  but  you'll  help  me  to 
find  it— Maria  f ' ' 

She  started ;  for  it  was  the  first  time  he  had 
called  her  by  this  name  since  he  had  understood 


290  PAEDON  AND  LOVE 

who  she  really  was.  But  now  it  seemed  that 
once  more,  for  an  instant  at  least,  he  confused 
the  present  with  the  past ;  once  more,  struck  by 
her  resemblance  to  his  dead  wife,  he  called  her 
by  the  name  of  that  wife,  and  appealed  to  her, 
as  he  might  have  appealed  to  Maria  herself,  to 
aid  him  in  what  concerned  them  both  so  deeply. 
The  poignant  pathos  of  the  situation — of  the 
truth  which  he  did  not  know — almost  over- 
whelmed the  girl;  and,  losing  sight  of  every- 
thing except  that  moving  appeal,  she  said 
quickly : 

"I'll  do  anything  I  can  to  help  you;  but 
where  is  the  letter  1 ' ' 

i  i  There, ' '  he  said,  pointing  again  toward  the 
desk.    "It  must  be  there." 

Then,  with  a  feeling  of  being  overmastered 
by  some  power  stronger  than  herself,  she  drew 
his  chair  nearer  to  the  massive  piece  of  furni- 
ture, followed  the  direction  of  his  pointing 
finger  to  the  drawer  where  the  key  lay,  fitted 
this  in  its  lock,  and  opened  down  the  old- 
fashioned,  sloping  top,  which,  lowered,  formed 
the  table  of  the  desk,  and  displayed  its  inner 
drawers  and  beautifully  carved  pigeonholes. 
The  sight  of  the  familiar  interior  seemed  to  act 
as  a  stimulant  on  Judge  Wargrave.  He  leaned 
forward,  and  his  hands  moved  quickly  from  one 
compartment  to  another.  But  it  was  soon 
evident  that  the  mind  could  not  follow  the  eager 
fingers.    Hester,  watching  him  closely,  saw  that 


PARDON  AND  LOVE  291 

he  was  unable  to  read  the  papers  which  he 
drew  out  and  attempted  to  examine.  She  was 
not  surprised  when  presently,  dropping  a  pack- 
age, he  raised  his  eyes  to  her  full  of  pain  and 
reproach. 

1  i  You  don 't  help  me ! ' '  he  complained.  ' '  And 
I_I  can't  find  it !" 

The  piteousness  of  the  appeal  was  irresist- 
ible; and,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  was 
doing,  she  leaned  over  the  desk  and  pulled  open 
one  of  its  inner  drawers.  It  chanced  to  be  a 
drawer  which  held  only  a  single  paper,  and  that 
a  letter  which  lay  staring  at  her  as  it  were,  with 
the  printed  name  of  the  Catholic  church  of 
Kingsford  in  the  corner  of  the  envelope  to 
identify  it.  She  stared  at  it  for  a  moment,  and 
then — "Kismet!"  she  murmured  to  herself  as 
she  drew  it  out. 

"Is  this  the  letter  you  want?"  she  asked, 
laying  it  in  Judge  Wargrave  's  hand. 

It  had  an  effect  upon  him  on  which  she  had 
not  counted.  As  his  glance  fell  on  the  envelope, 
it  was  clear  that  he  not  only  recognized  it  at 
once,  but  that  he  took  up  the  thread  of  memory 
where  it  had  been  broken  off  when,  under  the 
shock  which  this  letter  brought,  he  had  sunk 
away  into  black  depths  of  unconsciousness. 
Now  it  seemed  to  give  another  shock,  as  reviv- 
ing as  the  other  had  been  paralyzing.  Age  and 
illness  appeared  to  fall  away  from  him  when  he 
seized  it*,  and  the  girl,  who  had  seen  him  only 


292  PARDON  AND  LOVE 

under  the  cloud  of  physical  infirmity,  looked  at 
him  with  wonder,  as,  for  the  moment  at  least, 
this  cloud  lifted,  vigor  came  into  his  frame, 
light  flashed  over  his  face,  and  he  cried  in  a 
clear,  ringing  voice: 

"Yes,  this  is  the  letter  which  gave  me  back 
my  son ! ' ' 

"No!"  The  vehement  denial  burst  from 
Hester's  lips  before  she  had  time  to  think,  or  to 
control  herself.  ' i  It  did  not  give  you  back  your 
son, ' '  she  said.  ' '  It  only  told  you  what  you  lost 
forever  when  you  sent  him  away. ' ' 

The  hand  which  held  the  letter  dropped  in 
Judge  Wargrave's  lap,  as  he  looked  up  at  her. 
And,  meeting  his  eyes,  she  knew  that  the  man 
who  regarded  her  was  the  man  who  had  been 
reckoned  the  foremost  jurist  of  his  day  and 
time.  The  keen  intellect  was  working  again  as 
well  as  it  had  ever  worked;  the  piercing  gaze 
seemed  reading  her  through  and  through. 

"What,"  he  asked  slowly  and  clearly,  "do 
you  know  of  it?  What  do  you  know  of  my  son 
— or  of  me!  And  who  are  you"  (it  might  have 
been  the  judge  on  the  bench  who  spoke,  so  full 
of  stern  authority  was  the  tone)  "who  come 
here,  with  his  mother's  face  and  voice,  to  tell 
me  what  I  lost  when  I  sent  him  away  ? ' ' 

Standing  with  her  back  against  the  desk,  to 
which  she  was  holding  with  both  hands,  she 
answered  proudly : 

"You  must  know  who  I  am.    Since  I  have  his 


PARDON  AND  LOVE  293 

mother's  face  and  voice,  who  could  I  be  but  his 
daughter?" 

"His  daughter — my  son's  daughter!  But  I 
never  knew — ' ' 

"That  he  had  a  daughter?  No;  he  was  as 
proud  as  you.  He  would  claim  nothing,  ask 
nothing,  from  the  father  who  had  misjudged 
and  cast  him  off.  Didn't  you  know  him  well 
enough  to  know  that?  He  was  a  Wargrave  as 
well  as  yourself." 

"His  daughter!"  The  old  man  sat  as  if 
turned  to  stone,  gazing  at  her.  "And  he  never 
told  me !    He  died  and  never  told  me ! " 

"Do  you  think  he  would  have  told  you  then?' 
she  demanded,  with  all  the  bitterness  of  long- 
repressed  passion  in  her  voice.  "Do  you  think 
he  would  have  asked  your  charitv  for  me  any 
more  than  for  himself?  More  than  once  he 
said:  'If  you  were  a  boy,  I  would  claim  the 
Wargrave  inheritance  for  you ;  it  would  be  only 
just  and  right.  But  as  it  is,  we  will  ask  nothing, 
not  even  recognition. '  And  I  would  never  have 
asked  recognition, — I  don't  ask  it  now,  under- 
stand that!"  she  cried.  "I  did  not  come  here 
to  ask  anything.  I  came  to  try  to  clear  his 
name,  as  he  would  never  make  an  effort  himself 
to  clear  it.  And  God  helped  me.  He  must  have 
helped  me ;  for  how  else  was  it  that  the  man  I 
sought,  and  could  never  have  found  by  my  own 
efforts,  was  flung  dying  at  my  feet,  and  that  he 


294  PARDON  AND  LOVE 

had  the  grace — oh,  the  wonderful  grace! — to 
confess  the  truth  before  he  died?" 

Judge  Wargrave  held  out  the  letter  in  a  hand 
which  shook  violently. 

4  *  Then  it  was  through  you  that  this  came?" 
he  asked. 

' '  It  was  through  me,  in  as  far  as  I  furnished 
the  key  which  enabled  the  priest  to  write  it," 
she  answered.  "But  you  understand  that  it 
was  the  dying  confession  of  a  man  who  was 
killed  in  the  railway  wreck  ? ' ' 

"I  understand:  the  man  who  was  the — the 
thief?" 

"Yes,  the  thief  and  forger  which  you  were 
blind  enough  to  believe  that  your  son  could  be. 
Oh,"  she  cried  suddenly,  "thank  God  that  the 
man  belonged  to  a  religion  which  taught  him 
that  there  was  something  to  do  to  atone  for 
wrong, — something  beside  merely  being  sorry! 
And  so,  when  death  stared  him  in  the  face,  he 
told  the  truth;  and  that  is  why  you  have  it 
there,  on  the  testimony  of  the  priest  who  at- 
tended him  in  his  last  moments." 

"The  priest!"  Judge  Wargrave  repeated 
the  unfamiliar  word,  as  if  wonderingly,  to  him- 
self. "God  forgive  me,"  he  said  slowly,  "that 
during  a  long  life  I  have  thought  poorly  of 
priests,  and  held  the  confessional  an  instrument 
of  evil!  Now  I  see  how  great  an  instrument 
of  good  it  is, — now  that  it  has  given  me  back  my 
son ! "    He  held  out  the  letter  again  in  his  old. 


PARDOX  AXD  LOVE  295 

trembling  hand.  ' i  Read  it  to  me, ' '  he  said ;  and 
then,  as  she  hesitated:  "You  know  I  can  not 
read  it  myself. ' ' 

The  appeal  of  his  helplessness,  even  more 
than  that  of  his  tone,  overcame  the  girl's 
attitude  of  resistance.  As  he  extended  the  let- 
ter, something  in  his  manner  and  glance  seemed 
to  say :  ' '  It  concerns  us  equally — you  and  me, — 
and  us  alone."  And  it  was  this  recognition  of 
her  right  to  share  .  in  the  revelation  which 
cleared  Harry  Wargrave's  name  forever  of  any 
shadow  of  dishonor,  that  made  her  take  the 
letter  and  drop  on  her  knees  beside  his  chair; 
for  so  only  she  felt  that  she  could  read  it. 

When  she  finished  reading,  there  was  silence 
in  the  room, — silence  which  to  Hester's  fancy 
still  echoed  with  the  sound  of  the  words  she  had 
spoken.  For,  few  and  simple  as  those  words 
were,  she  knew  their  tremendous  import  to  the 
old  man  who  listened  so  eagerly,  drinking  them 
in  as  it  were.  And  it  seemed  to  her  that  there 
might  be  others  listening  also ;  the  son  who  had 
heard  his  sentence  of  banishment  in  this  room, 
and  went  out  of  it  so  proudly,  and  the  mother 
who  had  died  broken-hearted  because  of  his 
going.  Surely  they  must  be  there  in  the  gather- 
ing shadows  to  hear  her  voice  read  aloud  the 
words — which  but  for  her  would  never  have 
been  written, — that  made  an  end  of  cruel  mis- 
understanding and  estrangement. 

Still  kneeling,  she  looked  out  of  the  great 


296  PARDON  AND  LOVE 

western  window,  over  the  broad  acres  of  the 
Wargrave  heritage  which  lay  below,  to  the  far 
horizon,  where  the  ineffable  glories  of  sunset 
had  faded  into  that  luminous  calm  which,  with 
its  hint  of  heavenly  remoteness,  speaks  to  our 
poor  hearts,  as  nothing  else  on  earth  can  speak, 
of  the  world  toward  which  we  are  hastening  as 
pilgrims  and  wayfarers.  Filled  with  the 
thought  of  those  who  had  already  reached  that 
world,  as  well  as  of  the  old  man  beside  her  who 
stood  upon  its  threshold,  the  girl  was  conscious 
of  an  exaltation  of  spirit  such  as  she  had  never 
known  before, — the  exaltation  of  one  who  has 
attained  to  some  height  from  which,  if  only  for 
a  brief  instant,  the  meaning  of  life  becomes 
clear,  its  bitterness  is  wiped  away,  and  the 
gracious  purposes  of  God  are  justified.  By 
what  a  strange  and  wonderful  way  she  had 
been  led  to  the  spot  where  she  now  was  she 
suddenly  seemed  to  see,  as  if  by  a  flash  of 
illumination,  while  Desmond's  words  sounded 
in  her  ears:  "A  wonderful  opportunity  to  do 
something  so  fine  that,  if  you  lose  it,  you  will 
never  cease,  in  time,  or  perhaps  in  eternity,  to 
regret  it."  And  again:  "It  means  that,  rep- 
resenting the  man  who  was  unjustly  banished 
from  his  father's  house,  you  can  go  back  to  that 
house,  to  return  benefit  for  injury;  to  give 
service  to  one  stricken  down  by  the  knowledge 
of  his  own  terrible  mistake ;  to  offer — if  you  are 
great  enough  for  that — the  forgiveness  which 


PARDON  AND  LOVE  297 

Harry  Wargrave  might  have  wished  to  offer  to 
the  father  who  indeed  judged  him  wrongly,  but 
to  whose  teaching  and  example  he  owed  the 
qualities  for  which  you  admired  and  loved 
him.',  And  then  the  ringing  appeal  seemed 
once  more  sounding  in  her  ears:  " Isn't  this 
worth  doing?  And  aren't  you  strong  enough  to 
doit?" 

She  almost  gasped  again,  as  she  had  gasped 
in  listening  to  what  her  spirit  even  then 
acknowledged  as  a  call  to  arms;  for  the  ques- 
tion still  faced  her — was  she  strong  enough  to 
do  it?  Only  a  little  while  ago,  down  there 
among  the  roses,  she  had  cried  out  upon  her 
weakness,  which  she  now  knew  to  be  strength. 
But  was  this  strength  great  enough  for  the 
demand  upon  it?  She  had  returned  benefit  for 
injury;  she  had  given  service  to  one  sorely 
stricken  by  his  own  great  mistake;  she  had 
brought  him  the  knowledge  which,  in  his  own 
solemn  words,  gave  him  back  his  son ;  and  now 
there  remained  one  thing  still  to  do — was  she 
great  enough  to  do  it? 

Half  unconsciously,  she  started  to  rise  to  her 
feet;  but  the  old  man's  hand  fell  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  she  remained  kneeling  beside 
him,  while  he  spoke  as  she  had  not  heard  him 
speak  yet;  for  the  deep  fountains  of  feeling 
were  broken  up,  and  he  was  moved  as  in  all  his 
long  life  he  had  never  been  moved  before. 


298  PARDON  AXD  LOVE 


Harry's  daughter!"  lie  said.  " Harry 's 
daughter !  And  she  comes  as  a  stranger  under 
my  roof !  0  my  God!  How  dare  I  ask  You  to 
forgive  me,  when  I  can  never  forgive  myself! 
Child,  I  don't  wonder  that  you  want  to  go,  now 
that  you  have  done  what  you  came  to  do.  But 
before  you  go  I  should  like  to  fall  at  your  feet 
and  beg  one  word  of  pardon  for  Harry's  sake. 
Did  he  go  away  without  a  sign  of  forgiveness 
for  the  father  whose  heart  was  broken  for  him? 
Oh,  my  son !  my  son ! ' ' 

The  passionate  cry,  the  outburst  of  weeping 
— the  hard  weeping  of  manhood  and  old  age, — 
such  as  rives  the  very  heart  asunder,  were  more 
than  she  could  bear.  ' '  Are  you  great  enough  ? ' ' 
a  voice  seemed  whispering  in  her  ear ;  and  she 
answered  by  putting  her  arms  about  the  bowed 
and  shaking  form. 

"He  always  understood  and  forgave,"  she 
whispered.  "I  have  come  to  tell  you  that,  too. 
And  before  he  died  he  said:  'When  you  see  my 
father,  give  him  my  love.'  I  thought  he  was 
dreaming ;  for  I  never  imagined  it  possible  that 
I  would  ever  see  you,  and  I  knew  that  he  knew 
how  I  felt  toward  you.  But  the  dying  have 
strange  insight  sometimes,  and  I  believe  that  he 
foresaw  what  would  follow  if  we  ever  met. ' ' 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  a  light  which  was 
like  a  blessing  on  his  face. 

"Child,"  he  said,  "what  has  followed?" 

And  she  answered :  ' l  Pardon  and  love. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXII 

EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR 

It  chanced  that  the  brief  interview  in  the 
rose  garden  between  Desmond  and  Hester  had 
a  witness  of  which  neither  was  aware, — an  alto- 
gether involuntary  witness ;  for  when,  attracted 
by  the  beauty  of  the  sunset,  Edith  went  to  a 
window  which  overlooked  the  garden,  the  river, 
and  the  distant  woodlands  sloping  up  to  the 
western  sky,  she  had  no  thought  of  seeing  the 
two  figures  which  at  once  caught  her  eye  as 
they  walked  on  the  lower  terrace,  the  white 
uniform  of  the  nurse  showing  in  strong  relief 
against  the  green  background  of  shrubs  and 
hedges.  She  forgot  the  sunset,  as  she  stood 
looking  at  them — frowning  slightly  while  she 
looked, — until  Desmond  suddenly  paused  and 
caught  the  hand  of  the  girl ;  then,  with  a  start, 
she  turned  abruptly  and  moved  away,  conscious 
of  having  again  surprised  something  not  meant 
for  her  to  see  or  know. 

A  sense  of  indignation  possessed  her  as  she 
walked  hurriedly  up  and  down  the  room. 
"What  does  it  mean!"  she  asked  herself  in 
futile  inquiry  and  hot  scorn.  Why  this  under- 
hand intercourse,  these  clandestine  meetings? 

299 


300  EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOE 

If  some  tie,  such  as  she  had  imagined,  existed 
between  Desmond  and  the  nurse,  why  should  he 
not  avow  it?  What  reason  could  there  be  for 
secrecy  which  seemed  as  unnecessary  as  it  was 
unworthy  ?  i '  What  has  he  to  lose  by  being  open 
with  us  f ' '  she  wondered  bitterly.  i '  The  will  is 
made,  and  poor  Uncle  George  has  no  power  to 
change  it  now.  It  is  almost  as  if  he  were 
already  dead  and  the  heir  he  has  chosen  is 
virtually  master  of  Hillcrest.  No  one  doubts  or 
denies  this ;  so  why — why  should  he  act  in  such 
a  manner,  maintain  these  secret  relations  with 
this  girl,  who  has  acknowledged  that  she  is  here 
in  a  false  position?" 

Vainly  asking  these  questions  as  she  paced 
back  and  forth,  Edith  found  herself  also  reflect- 
ing upon  her  own  relations  with  Desmond. 
That  he  had  given  no  sign  of  any  intention  of 
fulfilling  the  evident  desire  of  the  family  by 
asking  her  to  marry  him,  she  was  well  aware ; 
but  it  was  part  of  her  superb  self-confidence 
that  she  had,  nevertheless,  entertained  no  doubt 
whatever  of  her  power  to  bring  him  to  her  feet 
as  a  suitor  if  she  desired  to  do  so.  She  had  not 
yet  decided  whether  or  not  she  did  desire  to  do 
this ;  she  was  only  pleasantly  conscious  of  what 
she  conceived  to  be  her  power  to  do  as  she  liked, 
when  the  shock  came  which  seemed  to  tell  her 
that  she  possessed  no  such  power ;  that,  instead 
of  commanding  the  situation  as  she  fancied,  she 
was  of  no  account  in  it. 


EDITH  LISTEXS  AT  THE  DOOR  301 

This  at  least  had  been  her  first  impression; 
bnt  it  was  characteristic  of  Edith  Creighton 
that  the  belief  in  herself  which  every  influence 
of  her  life  had  up  to  this  time  fostered,  could 
not  remain  in  eclipse  very  long.  After  the  con- 
versation with  Selwyn,  in  which  she  relieved 
her  mind  and  expressed  various  hasty  opinions 
and  conjectures,  she  recovered  something  of 
her  usual  poise ;  and  it  began  to  seem  probable 
that  the  key  to  Desmond's  unaccountable  con- 
duct might,  after  all,  be  found  in  his  intentions 
toward  herself, — intentions  which  it  seemed 
impossible  that  he  had  not  entertained,  since 
every  one  gave  him  credit  for  them;  and  she 
knew  how  irresistible  she  had  often  proved 
when  making  no  such  effort  to  charm  as  she  was 
quite  conscious  of  having  made  for  his  benefit. 
She  decided,  therefore,  to  give  him,  after  a 
certain  interval  of  coolness  and  delay,  an 
opportunity  to  explain  his  apparent  intimacy 
with  the  nurse.  And  her  own  interest  having 
been  stimulated  by  the  element  of  doubt  so 
unexpectedly  introduced  into  the  situation, 
there  was  no  question  but  that  she  was  more 
inclined  than  she  had  ever  been  to  consider 
favorably  the  suit  which  might  be  offered  as 
a  result  of  the  explanation,  when — the  sunset 
glow  called  her  to  a  window  in  time  to  witness 
the  scene  in  the  garden,  which  again  threw  all 
her  thoughts  and  plans  into  chaos. 

Now,  reflecting  upon  these  things,  she  was 


302  EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR 

conscious  of  an  anger  more  intense  than  any 
she  had  felt  before, — even  than  that  which, 
oddly  enough,  Selwyn  had  been  the  person 
appointed  to  soothe.  For,  although  she  would 
have  said  that  Bobby's  opinion  had  no  weight 
with  her,  there  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  his 
positively  expressed  views  had  influenced  her 
very  much.  Women  feel  instinctively  that  a 
man's  opinion  of  men  is  based  upon  surer 
knowledge  than  their  own;  and  when  Selwyn 
declared,  "You  are  letting  your  imagination 
run  away  with  you.  .  .  .  There  are  some  things 
a  gentleman  can't  do,"  she  was  more  impressed 
than  she  was  willing  to  acknowledge.  But  now 
— she  longed  to  have  him  before  her  now,  in 
order  that  she  might  cry  out  upon  him  that  he 
had  been  a  fool  to  believe  that  the  standard  of 
a  gentleman  applied  to  Laurence  Desmond,  and 
that  she  had  been  an  even  greater  fool  to  listen 
to  him. 

Briefly,  Miss  Creighton  was  in  a  state  of 
mind  and  feeling  which,  if  it  could  not  possibly 
be  described  as  the  fury  of  ' '  a  woman  scorned, ' ' 
which  we  are  assured  is  beyond  any  other  fury 
known,  was  at  least  sufficiently  one  of  anger 
with  herself,  as  well  as  with  others,  to  make  her 
mood  dangerous.  She  felt — unreasonably 
enough,  as  we  are  aware,  but  nevertheless 
intensely — that  her  self-esteem  had  received  a 
crushing  blow;  and  considerations  of  dignity 
yielded  to  the  natural  human  impulse  to  return 


EDITH  LISTEXS  AT  THE  DOOR  303 

the  blow, — to  prove  to  all  whom  it  concerned 
that  Desmond  was  not  worthy  of  the  trust 
which  had  been  bestowed  upon  him ;  that  if  one 
of  the  first  requirements  of  the  Wargrave  heir 
was  that  he  should  show  a  record  of  spotless 
honor,  this  man  was  not  fitted  to  be  that  heir 
and  to  carry  on  the  traditions  and  standards  of 
a  line  of  gentlemen. 

In  this  highly  charged  condition  of  what 
might  be  described  as  spiritual  electricity,  she 
went  down  to  dinner,  where  it  was,  in  a  certain 
sense,  a  relief  to  find  that  Desmond  was  absent. 
Replying  to  her  interrogative  glance,  Mrs. 
Creighton  said: 

"Laurence  has  gone  into  Kingsford.  Bobby 
telephoned  for  him  to  come  and  meet  some 
people  of  importance — magnates,  as  they  are 
ridiculously  called,  of  one  kind  or  another, — 
who  have  stopped  over  to  examine  the  re- 
sources of  the  country,  with  a  view  to  railways 
or  mills  or — er — " 

"Some  other  means  of  making  money  and 
demoralizing  the  people,  as  poor  Uncle  George 
would  say,"  Edith  concluded.  "Yes,  I  heard 
Bobby  talking  of  them, — the  magnates,  I  mean. 
They  are,  of  course,  to  be  feasted  and  flattered, 
in  order  to  induce  them  to  spend  some  of  their 
ill-gotten  millions  here  if  possible;  and  he 
wants  all  the  help  he  can  get  in  this  effort.  So 
he  naturallv  called  on  Laurence,  who  has  the 
Irish  blarney  on  his  tongue. ' ' 


304  EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR 

The  speaker's  own  tongue  betrayed  more 
than  she  intended  of  the  bitterness  of  her 
mood;  but  Mrs.  Creighton  made  no  comment 
beyond  a  quick  glance,  until  they  were  in  the 
library  after  dinner.    Then  she  said : 

"I  have  been  wanting  to  ask  you  for  several 
days,  Edith,  why  you  seem  so — well,  so  irri- 
tated against  Laurence.  What  has  he  done  to 
annoy  you?" 

"To  annoy  me  personally,  nothing,"  Edith 
replied  loftily.  "But  I  have  lost  respect  for 
him, — that's  all." 

"Lost  respect  for  him!"  Mrs.  Creighton 
looked,  as  she  felt,  confounded.  "Why  what 
on  earth  has  happened?    What  has  he  done?" 

"I'd  really  rather  you  didn't  ask  me,"  Edith 
answered  irritably.  "As  I've  already  said,  he 
has  done  nothing  toward  me,  but  I  have  learned 
— that  is — er — happened  to  find  out  some 
things  about  him  which  make  me  very  sorry  for 
poor  Uncle  George. ' ' 

"Edith!  This  is  perfectly  dreadful.  What 
have  you  found  out?  And  why  are  you  sorry 
for  my  brother  ? ' ' 

i '  I  am  sorry  for  him  because  I  know  that  his 
chief  requirement  for  the  Wargrave  heir  is  that 
he  shall  be  a  man  of  honor,  and  I  am  convinced 
that  Laurence  Desmond  is  nothing  of  the  kind." 

Now,  this  was  more  than  Miss  Creighton 
intended  to  say  when  she  began;  and  much 
more,  her  conscience  informed  her,  than  she  had 


EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR  305 

a  right  to  say.  But,  as  we  have  all  had  occasion 
to  learn  in  life,  anger  does  not  tend  to  modera- 
tion of  statement;  and  the  impetuous  words 
burst  from  her  lips  before  she  could  check  them. 
When  she  saw  the  horrified  expression  of  her 
stepmother's  face,  she  realized  that  she  had 
gone  too  far.  But,  explanation  being  difficult, 
she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"I  told  you  that  I'd  rather  you  didn't  ask 
me  anything  about  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "Ii 
don't  want  to  talk  of  Laurence  Desmond,  or 
anything  concerning  him;  and  I  wish  I  had 
never  heard  of  him. ' ' 

Then,  still  more  angry  from  the  self -betrayal 
which  this  implied,  she  turned  and  went  quickly 
out  of  the  room. 

In  the  hall  Edith  paused,  undecided  what  to 
do  with  herself,  yet  acutely  conscious  that  her 
mood  required  distraction.  At  this  moment  she 
understood  the  pity  which  some  of  her  friends 
in  Kingsford  bestowed  upon  her  for  living  at 
Hillcrest,  and  felt  that  it  might  be  desirable  to 
be  where  it  was  possible  at  any  moment  to 
escape  from  one's  self  by  means  of  social  inter- 
course. Just  now  there  was  no  social  inter- 
course available  at  Hillcrest  except  that  from 
which  she  had  fled,  unless  she  went  up  to  the 
Judge 's  room ;  and  intercourse  with  him  had  of 
late  been  hardly  more  than  a  painful  attempt 
to  interpret  his  difficult  utterances. 

The  nurse  would  be  there,  however ;  and  con- 


306  EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR 

cerning  the  nurse  Miss  Creighton  was  now 
aware  of  a  consuming  curiosity.  Something 
about  the  girl  had,  almost  against  her  will, 
impressed  her  from  the  first, — something  con- 
nected with,  and  yet  distinct  from,  the  likeness 
to  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Wargrave  which  had  so 
much  impressed  by  every  one  else.  Despite  her 
self,  she  had  been  forced  to  acknowledge  the 
indefinable  personal  charm  which  had  struck 
Desmond  so  strongly,  and  to  own  that  there  was 
an  arresting  quality  in  the  glance  of  the  lucid 
eyes,  the  composure  of  the  quiet  manner.  But 
she  had  made  no  effort  to  know  the  nurse  ex- 
cept in  her  professional  capacity,  and  since  the 
day  when  she  overheard  the  conversation  with 
Desmond  in  the  sitting-room,  her  manner  had 
been  of  so  repellent  a  frigidity,  that  it  was  no 
wonder  Hester  had  said,  "I  am  sure  Miss 
Creighton  suspects  something." 

Now,  Miss  Creighton  felt  that  the  time  had 
come  to  resolve  suspicion  into  certainty.  She 
suddenly  determined  that  she  would  go  up  to 
the  Judge 's  apartments ;  that  she  would  talk  to 
the  girl,  and  find  or  make  an  opportunity  to 
learn  the  truth  concerning  the  relations  which 
clearly  existed  between  herself  and  the  young 
man,  who  was  so  distinctly  a  stranger  in  Hill- 
crest,  although  its  heir.  She  turned  toward  the 
staircase,  and  as  she  did  so  she  became  aware 
of  a  figure  which  came  swiftly  around  its 
sweeping  curve  and  descended  to  meet  her.    It 


EDITH  LISTEN'S  AT  THE  DOOR  307 

was  Virgil,  and  something  in  his  look  and  man- 
ner as  he  halted  made  her  say  quickly : 

"Well,  Virgil!  What  is  it?" 

"It's  about  Mass  George,  Miss  Edith,"  Vir- 
gil answered;  and  she  caught  a  note  of  excite- 
ment in  his  voice,  a  startled  glance  of 
apprehension  in  his  eyes.  "There's  a  change 
in  him." 

"A  change !"  She  was  startled  now,  for  this 
expression  usually  means  only  one  kind  of 
change — the  last  known  to  mortality.  "Is  he 
worse  1    Has  he  had  another  stroke ! ' ' 

Virgil  shook  his  head. 

"No'm.  He's  a  great  deal  better.  He's 
talkin'  as  well  as  ever  he  did." 

"Virgil!    Impossible!" 

Virgil  moved  aside  and  made  a  motion  of  his 
hand  upward. 

"Go  and  see,  Miss  Edith,"  he  said  in  a  tone 
of  solemnity.  "I  couldn't  hardly  believe  my 
ears  when  I  went  in  his  room  a  little  while  ago, 
to  git  everything  ready  for  his  goin'  to  bed,  an' 
I  heard  him  in  the  next  room  talkin', — not 
stumblin'  an'  blunderin'  like  he's  been  doin' 
since  his  last  stroke,  but  talkin'.  It  skeered  me. 
I  listened  at  the  door  a  while;  an'  then  I 
thought  I  better  let  you  an'  Miss  Rachel  know, 
so  as  you  might  git  the  doctor." 

"But  what  is  the  nurse  doing'?"  Miss  Creigh- 
ton  exclaimed.  "It  is  her  place  to  give  us 
warning  of  any  change. ' ' 


308  EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR 

Virgil  glanced  at  her  oddly. 

"It  hardly  seems  like  she  is  the  rmss!  I — I 
could  a 'most  a'  swore  it  was  Miss  Maria  in 
there  talkin'  with  him.  Go  up,  Miss  Edith — 
for  the  Lawd's  sake,  go  up  an'  hear  for  your- 
self! It's  a  miracle  has  happened  or — or  some- 
thin'  else." 

"Yes,  I'll  go  up  and  hear  for  myself,"  Edith 
told  him;  "and  meanwhile  say  nothing  to 
mamma.  I  don't  want  to  startle  her,  but  if  I 
find  that  there  is  any  need  of  the  doctor,  I  will 
come  down  and  telephone  for  him.  Just  keep 
quiet,  Virgil;  and  be  at  hand  in  case  I  need 
you. ' ' 

She  moved  up  the  staircase,  conscious  of  a 
not  unpleasant  interest  and  excitement — some- 
thing welcome,  as  taking  her  out  of  herself  for 
the  moment, — in  this  strange  news.  She  gave 
it  only  a  slight  degree  of  credence,  however; 
for  she  knew  how  poorly  equipped  for  a  witness 
the  negro  is.  Impressionable,  emotional,  and 
deeply  superstitious,  the  most  truthful  of  the 
race  can  hardly  be  relied  upon  for  exact  testi- 
mony; and  she  had  read  in  Virgil's  dilated 
eyes  the  proof  of  an  excitement  which  just  now 
rendered  him  peculiarly  unfit  to  give  anything 
of  the  kind. 

Nevertheless,  she  could  not  doubt  that  some 
change  in  Judge  Wargrave's  condition  must 
have  taken  place,  and  her  judgment  told  her 
that  caution  was  therefore  necessary  in  ap- 


EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR  309 

proaching  him.  Dr.  Glynn  had  warned  the 
household  that  anything  tending  to  excite  him 
was  to  be  carefully  avoided ;  and  there  had  been 
hints  of  a  weak  heart,  as  well  as  of  the  danger 
of  another  cerebral  hemorrhage.  Bearing 
these  things  in  mind,  she  paused  in  the  corridor 
outside  his  sitting-room.  If  everything  was 
quiet,  she  might  not  go  in  at  all,  at  least  just 
now. 

But,  so  far  from  everything  being  quiet,  she 
found  herself  listening  with  amazement  and 
dismay  to  the  sound  of  voices  in  sustained  con- 
versation,— amazement,  because  no  such  con- 
versation had  been  possible  with  Judge 
Wargrave  since  his  seizure;  and  dismay, 
because  now  and  then  his  voice  was  raised  in 
what  seemed  passionate  argument  or  appeal. 
The  words  were  inaudible,  but  the  tones  could 
not  be  mistaken;  and  Edith  found  herself 
wondering  if  insanity  had  overtaken  him  and 
loosed  the  power  of  speech  in  this  extraordi- 
nary manner.  But  if  so,  what  was  the  nurse 
about?  Her  tones  as  well  as  her  words  were 
almost  inaudible ;  but  it  was  clear  that  she  was 
trying  to  soothe,  to  persuade,  and — yes,  to 
expostulate.  And,  subtly  enough,  Edith  was 
conscious  that  this  expostulation  was  not  that 
of  a  nurse  in  her  official  capacity,  but  rather  of 
one  who  discussed  personal  matters  as  an  equal. 
More  and  more  as  she  listened,  wonder  over- 
came    Miss     Creighton;     and     with     wonder, 


310  EDITH  LTSTEXS  AT  THE  DOOR 

curiosity.  What  could  they  be  talking  about  in 
this  passionate,  absorbed  fashion!  It  was 
strange  enough  that  the  power  of  speech  had 
been  restored  to  Judge  Wargrave  in  a  manner 
which  seemed  indeed  almost  miraculous;  but 
even  that  strangeness  was  lost  sight  of  in  her 
desire  to  know  the  subject  of  this  amazing 
conversation. 

She  hesitated,  asking  herself  what  she  had 
better  do.  To  enter  the  room  and  demand  an 
explanation — call  the  nurse  to  task  for  neglect 
of  duty — was,  of  course,  open  to  her.  But  while 
that  might  put  an  end  to  the  conversation, 
would  it  tell  her  what  its  subject  had  been? 
She  felt  a  conviction  that  it  would  not ;  and  just 
now  nothing  seemed  of  so  much  importance  as 
learning  what  it  was  that  these  two  w^ere  so 
eagerly,  so  absorbedly  discussing.  She  told 
herself  that  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  know, 
in  order  that  she  might  inform  the  doctor  what 
kind  of  nurse  he  had  placed  in  charge  of  his 
patient ;  and  it  was  also  right  that,  representing 
Judge  Wargrave 's  relations  and  friends,  she 
should  learn  what  the  object  was  for  which  this 
girl  was  pleading  with  one  whom  age  and  weak- 
ness had  placed  in  her  power.  What  revelation 
had  she  made  to  him?  What  was  she  trying  to 
induce  him  to  do  or  not  to  do? 

It  was  less  curiosity  than  passionate  indig- 
nation, and  the  desire  to  gain  a  knowledge 
which  would  enable  her  to  protect  the  old  man 


EDITH  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR  311 

whom  she  loved,  that  made  Edith  resolve  that 
she  would  find  a  means  to  hear  what  was  going 
on  in  this  closed  room,  from  which  only  the 
inarticulate  sound  of  voices  issued.  She  sud- 
denly remembered  Virgil's  words,  "I  listened 
at  the  door" ;  and  with  them  came  a  recollection 
of  that  curtain-hung  door  between  the  sitting- 
room  and  the  chamber  behind  it,  where  she,  too, 
had  once  listened  accidentally  to  a  conversa- 
tion. The  memory  was  like  an  inspiration ;  and 
she  did  not  pause  to  weigh  the  impulse  which 
made  her  turn  swiftly,  enter  the  chamber,  from 
which  Virgil  had  fled  in  dismay  a  little  while 
before,  and  cross  the  floor  noiselessly  to  the 
door.  It  was  closed,  but  she  put  out  her  hand 
and  opened  it  softly  behind  the  shielding 
portiere.  As  she  did  so — as  it  yielded  to  her 
touch  and  swung  toward  her — a  sound  as  of 
rustling  paper  met  her  ear,  and  then  the 
Judge 's  voice,  loud,  passionate,  arbitrary : 

1 '  I  know  what  I  am  doing.  It  is  the  only  way. 
Burn  it,  I  say !    Let  me  see  you  burn  it ! ' ' 

There  came  a  murmur  of  something  like  pro- 
test, another  insistent,  "Burn  it!"  and,  for- 
getting everything  else  in  her  eagerness,  Edith 
Creighton  drew  back  the  curtain  sufficiently  to 
see  the  white-clad  figure  of  the  nurse  stoop  and 
lay  a  paper  in  the  heart  of  the  glowing  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


HESTER    EXPLAINS 


Desmond  was  roused  from  uneasy  slumber — 
in  which  some  consciousness  of  impending 
trouble  seemed  present  with  him — at  an  early 
hour  the  next  morning  by  the  sound  of  an  open- 
ing door,  and  a  footstep  crossing  his  floor.  He 
sprang  up  in  bed  to  see  Virgil  standing  beside 
him,  and  said  quickly : 

"You  have  come  to  tell  me  that  my  uncle  has 
another  stroke  ?" 

"Yes,  Mass  Laurence,''  Virgil  answered.  "I 
was  waked  a  little  while  ago  by  his  breathing — 
the  same  as  when  he  was  struck  before,  only 
worse, — and  I  called  the  nurse.  As  soon  as  she 
saw  him,  she  told  me  to  telephone  for  the  doc- 
tor, and  let  you  and  Miss  Rachel  know  that  he's 
took  very  bad. ' ' 

"I'll  be  there  in  a  few  minutes,"  Desmond 
said,  as  he  rose. 

He  dressed  so  quickly  that  he  was  able  to 
reach  Judge  Wargrave's  chamber  before  Mrs. 
Creighton  could  get  there;  and  to  say  a  few 
words  to  Hester  Landon,  whom  he  found  by  the 
bedside. 

312 


HESTER  EXPLAINS  313 

''What  do  you  think  of  his  condition ?"  he 
asked  her  immediately. 

"As  far  as  I  can  judge,"  she  answered,  "it  is 
hopeless.    This  is  the  end. ' ' 

"Then,"  he  said  hastily,  knowing  how  lim- 
ited the  time  in  which  he  could  speak  might  be, 
"you  must  let  me  tell  my  aunt  who  you  are.  It 
is  not  right,  it  is  intolerable,  that  you  should  be 
here  unrecognized. ' ' 

"No,"  she  answered  as  quickly  as  himself, 
"you  must  not  do  so.  It  is  not  the  right  time; 
it  is  as  if  I  waited  for  this  to  make  a  claim 
which  may  be  challenged.  He  was  to  have  told 
every  one  himself  to-day — " 

Desmond  interrupted  with  a  sharp  exclama- 
tion. 

Then  you  had  told  him ! "  he  cried. 
Yes,"  she  replied.  "When  I  came  in  after 
our  meeting  in  the  garden  yesterday,  I  found 
him  in  a  condition  of  mental  excitement  which 
had  for  the  time  cleared  his  mind  and  even 
restored  the  faculty  of  coherent  speech.  He 
asked  for  the  letter — the  priest's  letter,  you 
know, — and  I  was  forced  to  get  it  and  read  it 
for  him.  Then  he  said  something  which 
brought  an  answer  from  me  that  made  him  ask 
me  directly  who  I  was.  I  could  not  refuse  to 
answer  that  question  from  him,  and  I  told 
him. ' ' 

"Thank  God!"  Desmond  exclaimed  fer- 
vently. 


314  HESTER  EXPLAINS 

In  the  swift,  grateful  glance  of  her  eyes  he 
saw  the  tears  which  filled  them. 

"Yes,  thank  God!"  she  echoed  softly, — 
"thank  God  that  I  spoke  in  time, — in  the  only 
moment  of  time  allowed  me  in  which  to  speak ; 
that  I  told  him  who  I  was,  and  that  if,  in  the 
strange  world  to  which  he  is  going,  he  meets  my 
father,  he  can  tell  him  that  I  forgave  him ! ' ' 

"Ah!"  Desmond  caught  his  breath  and  for 
an  instant  could  say  no  more.  But  he  put  out 
his  hand  and,  as  twice  before,  seized  hers  in  a 
strong  clasp.  "I  knew  you  would  do  it,"  he 
said ;  ' '  but  how  grateful  I  am  that  you  did  it 
before  it  was  too  late  to  give  peace  and  comfort 
to  him!  How  different  our  feelings  will  be  in 
seeing  him  go  now  from  what  they  would  have 
been  if  you  had  failed  either  to  speak  or  to  for- 
give, when  the  great  moment  came !  But  I  was 
sure  that  you  would  not  fail. ' ' 

"You  were  surer  of  me  than  I  was  of  myself, 
then, ' '  she  said.  * '  But  I,  too,  am  very  grateful 
that  I  did  not  fail.  I  have  many  things,"  she 
added  hurriedly,  ' '  to  tell  you  of  what  happened 
then,  many  things  to  explain ;  but  this  is  not  the 
time  for  explanation,  even  if  we  were  not 
certain  to  be  interrupted  in  a  few  minutes.  You 
must  trust  me  for  a  little  while. ' ' 

"I  trust  you  for  always,"  he  told  her. 

Again  her  glance  thanked  him. 

"I  owe  you  more  than  I  can  express,"  she 
said.    "But  for  you,  I  should  not  be  here;  and 


HESTER  EXPLAINS  315 

for  the  privilege  I  am  most  deeply  grateful/ ' 

"But,"  lie  urged,  "you  should  be  here  in 
your  true  position.  So  again  I  must  beg  you 
to  let  me  tell  my  aunt  when  she  comes — " 

"No,  no!"  she  interrupted  with  low-toned 
imperativeness.  "I  can  not  allow  it.  I  repeat 
that  this  is  not  the  time  for  the  disclosure.  I 
hold  vou  bound  by  vour  promise  still,  and — 
here  is  Mrs.  Creighton  now!" 

Desmond  looked  around.  His  aunt  was 
entering  with  Dr.  Glynn,  whom  an  automobile 
had  brought  with  rushing  swiftness  from 
Kingsford;  and  he  realized  that  Hester  was 
right :  this  was  not  the  moment  to  intrude  any 
matter  of  life  into  the  solemn  matter  of  impend- 
ing death  which  concerned  them  all.  As  he 
drew  back  to  allow  Mrs.  Creighton  and  the 
doctor  to  approach  the  bed,  he  met  the  eyes  of 
Edith,  who  was  following  them,  and  felt  as  if 
he  had  received  an  electric  shock.  For  if  ever 
human  eyes  were  charged  with  meaning,  with 
strong  emotion  and  with  unutterable  feelings, 
those  of  Miss  Creighton  were.  Dilated  and 
brilliant,  they  fairly  blazed  upon  him;  and  he 
found  himself  confusedly  wondering  what  had 
happened,  as  the  tall,  graceful  figure  swept  by 
him  and  approached  the  bed,  where  Dr.  Glynn 
was  bending  over  the  outstretched  form,  with 
its  stertorous  breathing. 

When  the  doctor  raised  his  head,  he  looked 
at  Mrs.  Creighton  with  a  glance  which  before  he 


316  HESTER  EXPLAINS 

spoke  said,  as  the  nurse  had  already  said, 
' '  This  is  the  end. ' ' 

"I  can  not  conceal  from  you  that  the  condi- 
tion is  as  serious  as  possible,' '  he  told  her. 
"There  is  no  hope  that  he  will  ever  rally 
again. ' ' 

"You  mean  that  he  is  dying?"  she  whispered. 

He  nodded  solemnly, — for  even  doctors  grow 
solemn  in  the  face  of  death,  common  as  this 
great  mystery  might  seem  to  become  to  them. 

"Yes,  he  is  dying,"  he  answered.  "It  is  not 
probable  that  he  will  live  more  than  a  few  hours 
longer.    This  is  a  very  severe  stroke." 

Then  Edith  suddenly  spoke,  and  her  voice, 
charged  with  the  same  electric  quality  as  her 
glance,  made  every  one  in  the  chamber  start. 

' '  Is  he  entirelv  unconscious  1 ' '  she  asked. 

"Oh,  entirely!"  Dr.  Glynn  replied.  "The 
brain  is  practically  drowned  by  a  cerebral 
hemorrhage." 

"Then,"  Miss  Creighton  said  in  the  same 
clear,  vibrant  tone  of  intense  excitement,  "I 
must  tell  you,  Dr.  Glynn,  that  the  nurse  whom 
you  have  placed  in  charge  of  him  has  betrayed 
her  trust,  and  is  directly  accountable  for  this 
condition. ' ' 

"Edith!" — it  was  Mrs.  Creighton  who 
gasped  the  name,  for  every  one  else  was  too 
astounded  to  speak — "what  do  you  possibly 
mean  ? ' ' 

"Just  what  I  say,  mamma,"  Edith  answered, 


HESTER  EXPLAINS  317 

facing  toward  her.  ' '  I  might  have  told  you  last 
night,  but  I  thought  that  I  would  wait  until 
to-day,  when  I  could  ask  Mr.  Blaisdell  to  come 
and  meet  you  and  Dr.  Glynn,  and  I  could  then 
tell  you  together  what  I  had  learned." 

"And  what  have  you  learned?"  Dr.  Glynn 
demanded.  "This  is  a  very  serious  charge 
which  you  are  making  against  Miss  Landon, 
and  I  must  ask  you  to  explain  it  fully." 

"I  think,"  Edith  said,  "that  it  is  a  charge 
Miss  Landon  will  hardly  venture  to  deny.  I 
chance  to  be  in  a  position  to  assert  with  the 
utmost  positiveness  that  she  was  responsible 
for  exciting  Judge  Wargrave  to  a  dangerous 
degree  last  night,  that  she  interfered  with  and 
destroyed  some  of  his  private  papers,  and  that 
his  condition  to-day  is  therefore  directly  due  to 
her  betraval  of  trust. ' ' 

"Good  heavens!"  Dr.  Glynn  ejaculated,  with 
a  stunned  expression.  "Miss  Landon,  what 
have  vou  to  sav  to  all  this  ? ' ' 

But  before  the  young  nurse,  who  stood  calmly 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  could  answer,  Desmond 
advanced  and  eagerly  interposed. 

"Aunt  Eachel,"  he  said,  addressing  Mrs. 
Creighton,  "there  is  such  a  terrible  misunder- 
standing here  that  I  can  not  be  silent  a  moment 
longer — " 

"Forgive  me!"  Hester  Landon 's  hand  fell  on 
his  arm,  and  her  voice,  with  its  crystalline  tone, 
seemed  to  bring  a  quieting  influence  into  the 


318  HESTER  EXPLAINS 

scene.  ' '  You  must  be  silent  a  little  longer, ' '  she 
told  him.  "It  is  time  now  for  me  to  speak." 
She  turned  to  Dr.  Glynn.  "I  shall  be  glad  to 
give  you  the  explanation  which  you  have  cer- 
tainly a  right  to  demand,  doctor,"  she  said 
"But  shall  we  not  go  into  the  next  room — all 
of  us,  I  mean — in  order  to  avoid  excitement 
here ! ' ' 

"Yes,  that  will  be  best,"  the  doctor  an- 
swered; and  his  tone  expressed,  by  its  subtle 
change,  the  effect  of  her  composure  and  dignity. 

It  seemed  to  Desmond  eminently  fitting  that 
she  led  the  way  into  the  sitting-room,  only 
pausing  at  the  door  to  allow  Mrs.  Creighton  to 
precede  her.  The  latter,  as  soon  as  she  reached 
the  Judge's  great  winged  chair,  sank  into  it, 
pale  and  overcome. 

"This  is  very — shocking!"  she  said  tremu- 
lously, as  Hester,  with  the  impulse  of  the  nurse, 
bent  over  her. 

"I  am  sorry  that  it  should  have  come  upon 
you  at  this  time,"  the  girl  answered  gently.  "I 
would  have  prevented  it  if  I  could.  Try  to 
believe  that  things  are  not  as  bad  as  they  seem, 
until  I  can  explain  them.  Meanwhile,  shall  I 
not  get  you  a  glass  of  wine?" 

"It  is  not  necessary — "  Mrs.  Creighton  was 
beginning,  with  a  consciousness  of  Edith's 
rebukeful  glance,  when  Dr.  Glynn  pounced  upon 
her  pulse. 

"A  good  suggestion,  Miss  Landon,"  he  said. 


HESTER  EXPLAINS  319 

"A  glass  of  wine,  by  all  means.  Yes,  my  dear 
lady,  yon  need  a  slight  stimulant  to  carry  you 
through  these — er — very  trying  scenes. ' ' 

Desmond  rang  the  bell ;  the  wine  was  ordered 
and  brought  by  a  scared-looking  servant;  and 
while  Mrs.  Creighton  drank  it,  Edith  and  Des- 
mond, together  with  the  doctor,  involuntarily 
formed  a  group  about  her  chair,  thus  facing  the 
young  nurse,  as  she  stood,  leaning  against  the 
dark  rich  wood  of  the  Judge's  old  desk.  Her 
glance  swept  over  them,  and  settled  on  Mrs. 
Creighton,  to  whom  she  spoke  in  her  clear,  quiet 
tones. 

4 'What  you  have  just  heard  has  naturally 
been  very  startling,"  she  said;  "and  I  regret 
that  Miss  Creighton  did  not  tell  me  last  night 
what  she  had  learned,  and  so  given  me  an  op- 
portunity of  explaining  matters  to  her,  rather 
than  have  made  such  sensational  charges  at  a 
time  when  you  are  already  so  much  distressed.' ' 

"I  hardly  think,"  Edith  broke  in,  "that  it  is 
for  Miss  Landon  to  venture  to  find  fault  with 
me,  and  to  speak  of  '  sensational  charges. '  They 
may  be  sensational,  but  they  are  exactly  true, 
and  I  defy  her  to  deny  them. ' ' 

"I  have  no  intention  of  denying  anything 
which  is  true,"  Hester  replied.  "I  could  deny 
only  some  of  your  conclusions,  but  even  that  is 
not  worth  while.  It  will  be  best  simply  to  make 
a  clear  explanation  of  what  did  take  place 
between  Judge  Wargrave  and  myself  last  night. 


320  HESTER  EXPLAINS 

I  am  anxious  that  the  doctor,  who  has  been  so 
good  as  to  entrust  me  with  this  case" — her 
eyes  turned  upon  Dr.  Glynn  with  a  great  kind- 
ness in  their  depths — "shall  be  assured  that  I 
did  not  allow  anything  to  make  me  forget  the 
duties  of  a  nurse  which  I  undertook  when  I 
came  here." 

"It  seems  to  me  almost  incredible  that  you 
could  have  done  so, ' '  Dr.  Glynn  hastened  to  say. 

"But,  at  the  risk  of  offending  Miss  Creighton 
further,  I  must  add  that  I  do  not  blame  her  for 
misinterpreting  what  she  evidently  saw  and 
heard, ' '  Hester  went  on.  ' '  I  am  only  sorry  that 
your  attention" — again  she  addressed  Mrs. 
Creighton — "should  be  distracted  in  this  man- 
ner, at  a  time  when  you  would  desire  to  be  left 
undisturbed  by  the  bedside  of  one  who  is  leav- 
ing you  so  soon.  I  would  not  have  wished  to 
make  certain  disclosures,  which  must  be  made, 
at  this  time  or  so  abruptly.  But  the  matter  has 
been  taken  out  of  my  hands.  I  will  try  to  speak 
as  briefly  as  possible — " 

Nevertheless,  she  paused,  as  if  speech  was 
difficult  to  her ;  and  Desmond,  unable  to  restrain 
himself  longer,  stepped  forward  to  her  side. 

"Will  you  now  let  me  speak  for  you?"  he 
asked  her. 

She  looked  up  at  him  gratefully. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  in  a  low  tone.  "I  am  not 
so  strong  as  I  thought.  You  may  tell  them  who 
I  am.    I  will  explain  the  rest. ' ' 


HESTER  EXPLAINS  321 

' '  Thank  you ! "  he  said  gratefully  in  turn. 

Then  he  turned  to  his  aunt,  with  an  uncon- 
scious dignity  of  manner  and  bearing,  as  if  at 
that  moment  he  also  stepped  into  his  place  as 
the  head  of  the  house. 

"Aunt  Kachel,"  he  said,  "you  have  already 
observed  the  strong  resemblance  which  this 
young  lady,  whom  you  have  known  as  Miss  Lan- 
don,  bears  to  the  portrait  of  my  uncle's  wife. 
Has  that  likeness  never  made  you  suspect  who 
she  may  be  ? " 

He  felt  the  shock  of  surprise  which  passed 
over  the  group  before  him,  and  he  saAV  his 
aunt's  eyes  expand  in  startled  amazement. 

"No,"  she  replied.  "I  have  thought  of  the 
resemblance  onlv  as — an  accident." 

"It  is  not  an  accident,"  Desmond  said 
gravely.  "It  is  the  stamp  of  hereditary  like- 
ness. Miss  Landon,  as  she  has  chosen  to  be 
called,  is  Harry  Wargrave  's  daughter. ' ' 

"My  God!"  It  was  Dr.  Glynn  who  uttered 
this  exclamation,  as  he  stared  wide-eved  at  the 

7  %/ 

girl.    "Why  didn't  I  think  of  it!"  he  muttered. 
"Whv  didn't  I  see  it  before?" 

■r 

"But — but,"  Mrs.  Creighton  stammered, 
bewildered,  "we  never  heard — we  never  knew 
that  Harry  had  a  daughter. ' ' 

"No,  you  did  not  know,"  Hester  told  her 
calmly,  "because  when  I  was  born  my  father 
felt  too  bitterly  against  the  family  which  had 
cast  him  off,  to  have  anv  communication  with 

7  »/ 


322  HESTER  EXPLAINS 

them;  and  later,  when  I  could  understand  his 
position,  I  felt  such  resentment  against  those 
who  had  doubted  him  that  I  resolved  I  would 
never  belong  to  them  nor  acknowledge  the  con- 
nection. You  will  wonder  perhaps  why,  having 
made  such  a  resolution,  I  came  here — " 

"I  think" — it  was  Edith's  voice  which  again 
interposed  rather  hurriedly,  as  if  she  wished  to 
anticipate  some  possible  action  on  Mrs.  Creigh- 
ton's  part — "that  we  may  be  pardoned  if  we 
rather  wonder  whether  an  accidental  resem- 
blance has  not  inspired  this  extraordinary 
claim. ' ' 

"Edith,"  Desmond  exclaimed,  "do  not  say 
things  which  you  will  afterward  deeply  regret, 
and  which  are  unworthy  of  you!" 

"They  are  at  least  excusable,  inasmuch  as 
they  are  natural,"  Hester  Landon  said  with 
unchanged  composure.  "But  Miss  Creighton 
may  rest  assured  that  I  would  not  make  the 
claim  unless  I  was  quite  certain  of  being  able 
to  prove  it  to  the  satisfaction  of  every  person 
concerned.  I  never  meant  to  tell  any  one  who 
I  was,  when  I  came  to  this  part  of  the  country. 
My  sole  object — the  object  to  which  I  had  con- 
secrated my  life — was  to  clear  my  father's 
name.  I  came  in  search  of  evidence  for  that 
purpose,  and — I  found  it.  The  proof  of  the 
deep  wrong  he  had  suffered  was  given  into  my 
hand  by  a  miracle,  as  it  were ;  and  through  my 
efforts  the  letter  was  written  which  told  my ' ' — 


HESTER  EXPLAINS  323 

she  hesitated  only  a  moment — "my  grandfather 
the  truth  about  his  son." 

"Was  that  the  letter  which  struck  him 
down  ? ' '  Dr.  Glynn  inquired. 

"That  was  the  letter,"  she  answered.  "It 
was  written  by  the  Catholic  priest  in  Kings- 
ford,  who  had  heard  the  confession  of  a  man 
who  was  mortally  injured  in  the  railway  wreck. 
And  to  that  confession  I  was  able  to  supply  the 
key.  The  letter,  as  you  have  said,  struck  him 
down  once,  and  it  may  have  done  so  again ;  but 
I  should  like  you  to  believe  that,  if  so,  the  shock 
was  not  my  fault.  When  I  came  in  yesterday 
evening,  I  found  Judge  Wargrave  in  a  state  of 
singular  clearness  of  mind  and  speech.  He 
seemed  to  have  recovered  all  his  powers ;  he 
understood  his  own  situation  perfectly,  and  he 
insisted  that  I  should  get  for  him  the  letter 
which  he  distinctly  recollected.  I  was  unable  to 
evade  or  deny  his  request ;  and  when  I  read  the 
letter  to  him  he — said  something  which  forced 
from  me  the  avowal  of  who  I  am.  Don't  think" 
— once  more  she  addressed  Mrs.  Creighton — 
"that  this  revelation  injured  him.  It  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  to  act  as  a  strong  stimulant  to 
all  his  powers;  and  perhaps  you  may  under- 
stand that  I  can  not  regret  that  I  saw  him  once 
with  his  vigor  restored — the  father  of  whom 
my  father  had  so  often  talked  to  me, — and  that 
there  was  no  cloud  upon  his  mind  when  he 
understood  that  his  son's  name  was  cleared, 


324  HESTER  EXPLAINS 

and  that  I  brought  the  assurance  of  his  love 
and  forgiveness  to  him.  Even  if  the  excitement 
of  this  knowledge  caused  his  present  condition, 
are  you  not  glad  that  the  moment  was  granted 
him  in  which  to  know  all  that  meant  so  much  to 
him?  that  he  did  not  go  down  into  the  great 
darkness — or  perhaps  into  the  great  light,  we 
do  not  know — ignorant  of  the  truth?" 

It  seemed  to  Desmond  that  he  had  never 
heard  tones  so  full  of  exquisite  vibrations,  so 
pathetic  in  their  appealing  quality,  as  those 
which  asked  this  question ;  and,  as  she  asked  it, 
Hester  extended  her  hands.  It  was  an  uncon- 
scious gesture,  straight  from  the  heart ;  and  he 
at  least  did  not  wonder  that,  unable  to  resist  it, 
Mrs.  Creighton  rose  to  her  feet.  It  was  plain 
that  she  forgot  Edith's  disapproval, — forgot 
everything  except  the  appealing  figure  before 
her.  She  took  the  hands,  and  then  suddenly  put 
her  arms  around  the  girl. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  in  a  voice  which  shook 
with  emotion,  "I  am  glad,  so  glad,  that  you 
gave  him  such  great  happiness  before  he  died ! 
And  I  am  sure  he  would  have  welcomed  death 
to  obtain  the  assurances  you  brought." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JUDGE  WAKGRAVE'S  DEATH 

Mks.  Creighton  was  usually  a  person  so  little 
given  to  demonstration  of  feeling,  one  who  kept 
her  emotions  so  much  under  control,  that  her 
impulsive  action  when  she  took  the  young  nurse 
into  her  arms  astonished  those  who  witnessed 
it.  They  were  still  gazing  at  the  two  figures  as 
they  clung  together — Edith  with  a  sense  of 
growing  indignation — when  the  door  leading 
into  Judge  AVargrave  's  room  opened  and  Virgil 
appeared.  Again,  as  to  Desmond  a  little 
earlier,  his  face  told  the  story  of  what  he  had 
come  to  say  before  he  uttered  it;  and  Dr.  Glynn 
instantly  asked  quickly : 

"Is  there  a  change  in  the  Judge's  con- 
dition !" 

"Yes,  sir,"  Virgil  answered  in  a  trembling 
voice.  "I  come  to  tell  you  that  I  think  he's 
goin'  fast." 

The  doctor,  without  further  word,  walked 
hurriedly  into  the  next  room;  while  Mrs. 
Creighton  turned  with  a  start,  and  glanced  at 
Desmond. 

"What  did  Virgil  say?"  she  inquired. 

325 


326     JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH 

t 

"He  savs  that  my  uncle  seems  to  be  sinking/ ' 
the  young  man  replied.  "Perhaps  you  had  bet- 
ter return  to  him. ' ' 

He  was  about  to  offer  his  arm,  when  she  laid 
her  hand  again  on  that  of  the  girl  before  her. 

"Come!"  she  said.  "If  you  are  Harry's 
daughter,  your  place  is  beside  him." 

Hester  did  not  answer.  It  was  plain  that  her 
composure  had  at  last  failed,  and  emotion  had 
reached  the  overpowering  point;  but  she  drew 
Mrs.  Creighton's  hand  within  her  arm,  and 
together  they  passed  into  the  chamber  where 
the  last  inheritor  of  the  Wargrave  trust  lay 
dying. 

Edith  and  Desmond  thus  left  stood  for  an 
instant  staring  at  each  other.  Then  the  former 
flung  herself  down  into  a  chair,  and  motioned 
toward  the  door  where  the  others  had  disap- 
peared. 

"I  think  mamma  is  mad,"  she  said.  "But 
since  you  seem  to  share  her  madness,  and  to 
believe  this  unproved  story  of  one  who  may  be 
a  mere  adventuress,  you  had  better  go  also. 
As  for  me,  I  have  loved  Uncle  George  too  much 
to  wish  to  stand  bv  his  deathbed  in  such  com- 
pany ;  so  I  shall  stay  here. ' ' 

"Edith."  he  remonstrated  gravely,  "do  you 
think  such  judgment  as  this  is  reasonable? 
What  do  you  know  of  Miss  Landon,  that  you 
should  venture  to  speak  of  her  as  a  possible 
adventuress?" 


JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH     327 

"I  know,"  Edith  answered,  "that,  according 
to  her  own  admission,  she  came  to  this  house 
and  has  remained  here  in  a  false  character ;  and 
I  also  know  that  you  have  been  aware  of  the 
fact.  By  an  accident,  I  heard  you,  in  this  very 
room,  charge  her  with  it;  and  I  must  tell  you 
that  I  have  ever  since  despised  you  for  your 
want  of  frankness  and  sincerity.  What  the 
mystery  about  her  was  I  did  not  know  until  I 
heard  her  claim  of  relationship  a  little  while 
ago.  But  I  felt  that,  whatever  it  was,  you  had 
no  right  to  maintain  it, — that  you  owed  candor 
at  least  to  Uncle  George  and  to  mamma. ' ' 

"Looking  at  the  matter  from  your  point  of 
view,  you  are  right,"  Desmond  told  her. 
"Under  ordinary  circumstances,  I  should  cer- 
tainly have  owed  them  candor.  But  these  were 
not  ordinary  circumstances.  The  story  is  too 
long  to  tell  you  now;  but  I  wish  you  would 
believe  that  I  have  not  been  at  liberty  to  act 
in  any  other  manner  than  that  in  which  I  have 
acted.  In  order  to  induce  Miss  Landon  to  come 
to  Hillcrest  in  her  capacity  as  a  trained  nurse, 
I  had  to  promise  to  keep  the  secret  of  her  true 
identity — " 

"And  vou  believe  that  it  is  her  true 
identity?"  Miss  Creighton  broke  in  scornfully. 
"The  story  seems  to  me  incredible, — that 
Harry  Wargrave  could  have  had  a  daughter  of 
whose  existence  his  father  was  ignorant. ' ' 

"You   forget   the   alienation   which   existed 


328     JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH 

between  his  father  and  himself;  and  you  also 
forget  the  Wargrave  pride, — intense,  unbend- 
ing, passionate.  I  had  to  reckon  with  this  pride 
up  to  a  pitch  of  excitement  which  even  one  who 
in  the  daughter  when  I  went  to  her  to  persuade 
her  to  come  here." 

' '  Why  should  you  have  wished  her  to  come  ? ' ' 

He  regarded  her  with  astonishment. 

"Why  should  I  have  wished  her  to  come? 
Surely  that  is  evident.  Did  you  not  hear  my 
aunt  when  she  said  that  she  believed  her 
brother  would  have  welcomed  death  to  obtain 
the  knowledge  and  the  assurances  this  girl 
brought  to  him?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  her" — again  the  note  of  scorn 
rang  in  Edith's  tone — "and  marvelled  at  her 
credulity,  especially  since  I  am  in  a  position  to 
know  that,  whatever  assurances,  true  or  false, 
the  girl  may  have  brought  to  him,  she  also 
brought  death. ' ' 

"Edith!  How  dare  you  make  such  a 
charge  f ' ' 

"How  dare  I?"  Edith's  great  eyes  blazed 
upon  him.  "I  dare  because  I  know  exactly 
what  I  am  saying,  and  mean  every  word  of  it. 
In  this  room,  last  night,  she  worked  the  old  man 
had  not  the  advantage  of  being  a  trained  nurse 
would  have  known  was  dangerous ;  and  she  took 
advantage  of  his  condition  to  examine  his 
private  papers,  and  to  destroy  some  of  them, — 


JUDGE  WARGBAVE'S  DEATH     329 


possibly  his  will,  in  which  she  had  no  recog- 
nition or  part." 

" Edith,  it  is  impossible!  In  one  way  or 
another,  you  are  fearfully  mistaken.' ' 

"I  am  not  mistaken  at  all,"  Edith  assured 
him  coldly.  "It  occurred  last  night,  while  you 
were  away.  Virgil  came  down  and  told  me  that 
something  unusual  was  going  on;  and  when  I 
came  up  to  see  about  it,  I  found  the  nurse  in 
here  with  Uncle  George, — he  talking  clearly, 
and  so  excited  that  I  was  afraid  to  enter  for 
fear  of  exciting  him  further;  but,  standing 
yonder  behind  the  curtain"  (she  pointed  to  the 
portiere-hung  door),  "I  saw  her  burning 
papers." 

"What  papers?" 

"That  I  can  not  tell,  but  I  fancy  that  it  was 
his  will;  for  I  heard  him  say  to  her,  'Burn  it!' 
I  could  not  then  imagine  what  it  was  that  he 
wished  her  to  burn.  But  when  I  heard  her 
story,  I  understood.  She  had  made  him  believe 
that  she  was  his  son's  daughter;  and,  believing 
this,  he  was  overwhelmed  by  the  thought  that 
he  had  not  provided  for  her  in  his  will.  To 
make  another,  or  to  add  to  that  already  made, 
was,  we  know,  impossible  to  him.  And  so  no 
doubt  she  suggested  that  he  should  destroy  the 
will  which  preserved  the  Wargrave  trust — " 

"It  is  impossible,  I  tell  you, — impossible!" 

"And  thus  leave  her  sole  heiress  of  the  War- 
grave  estate.    You  will  find  that  she  did  this; 


330     JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH 

and  I  can  tell  you,  if  you  do  not  know  as  much 
yourself,  that  the  doing  of  it  gave  his  deathblow 
to  poor  Uncle  George.' ' 

"Miss  Edith" — again  it  was  Virgil's  voice, 
low,  shaken,  full  of  grief,  and  the  awe  which 
death  brings, — "Miss  Rachel  says  you  better 
come  if  you  want  to  see  Mass  George  again 
before  he — dies." 

"Yes,  Virgil, — yes!"  Edith  said. 

She  rose,  and,  with  one  last,  reproachful 
glance  at  Desmond — as  if  to  say,  "See  what 
you  have  helped  to  bring  about!" — went 
hastily  into  the  next  room. 

As  Desmond  followed  her,  he  suddenly  felt, 
with  a  pang  of  self-reproach,  that,  so  rapidly 
had  one  sensation,  one  surprise,  succeeded 
another  since  he  was  first  waked,  he  had  hardly 
found  time  to  give  a  thought  to  the  soul  bound 
on  its  last  dread  journey,  or  to  breathe  a  prayer 
that  it  might  find  mercy  before  the  judgment- 
seat  of  God.  When  he  entered  the  chamber 
now,  a  sense  of  something  like  horror  seized 
him;  for  truly  death  is  terrible  when  deprived 
of  every  gracious  sacrament,  of  every  sign  or 
emblem  of  the  divine  hope  which  alone  can  sus- 
tain the  sinking  soul  or  the  breaking  heart  at 
the  awful  passage  from  time  to  eternity. 

No  one  who  has  seen  only  Catholic  deathbeds 
can  fully  realize  all  of  which  the  stupendous 
apostasy  that  we  call  the  Protestant  Reforma- 
tion has  deprived  those  who  still  suffer  from  its 


JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH     331 

effects.  For,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  we  are  born 
only  in  order  that  we  may  die ;  and,  since  death 
is  therefore  the  most  important  act  of  life,  what 
is  so  appalling  as  the  mutilated  forms  of 
Christianity  which  send  the  soul  forth  un- 
shriven  by  the  great  absolving  power  of  Holy 
Church,  unfed  with  the  sustaining  Viaticum  for 
its  last  journey,  unblest  with  sight  or  touch  of 
the  crucifix  to  strengthen  it  by  the  thought  of 
Him  who  also  tasted  this  last  agony  of 
humanity!  We  may  know  these  things  at  all 
times;  but  to  witness  such  a  deathbed  is  not 
only  to  understand  the  full,  terrible  result  of 
that  great  spiritual  robbery  of  the  past,  but  to 
be  filled  with  a  pity  as  wild  as  it  is  impotent 
for  the  particular  soul  thus  bereft  in  its  last 
dire  extremity. 

Such  pity  rose  in  a  mounting  tide  which 
almost  choked  Desmond,  as  he  joined  the  silent 
group  about  the  bed,  and  looked  at  the  figure 
extended  upon  it.  All  the  signs  of  swiftly 
approaching  dissolution  were  apparent  to  the 
most  inexperienced  eye.  It  seemed  as  if  every 
slow  breath  would  be  the  last;  and  when  Dr. 
Glynn  laid  his  finger  on  the  swiftly  hurrying 
pulse — that  ominously  rapid  pulse  of  death,  as 
if  the  heart  were  in  haste  to  finish  its  long  task, 
— and  then,  lifting  his  head,  looked  with  solemn 
significance  at  Mrs.  Creighton,  the  young  man 
could  restrain  himself  no  longer.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  his  aunt's  arm. 


332     JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH 

"Aunt  Kachel,"  he  whispered,  "surely  there 
should  be  something  done, — or — or  at  least  said 
for  him !    Is  there  no  one  to — pray?" 

He  never  forgot  the  astonishment  in  the  eyes 
which  met  his  own. 

"To  pray!"  Mrs.  Creighton  echoed.  "I — I 
had  not  thought  of  it.  We  might  send  for  Mr. 
Craven,  if  there  was  time. ' ' 

Desmond  knew  that  Mr.  Craven  was  the 
Episcopal  clergyman. 

"What  would  he  do  if  he  came?"  he  asked, 
with  a  vague  hopefulness. 

"He  would  read  the  prayers  in  the  prayer- 
book,"  she  answered. 

"  Oh ! "  Without  much  knowledge  of  the  book 
alluded  to,  Desmond  had  an  instinctive  con- 
sciousness that  there  would  be  little  help  in  this. 
' '  I  am  afraid  there  is  not  time  for  him  to  reach 
here  before  the  end,"  he  said.  "But  it  is  ter- 
rible to  think  of  a  deathbed  without  a  prayer," 
— yet  even  as  he  spoke,  he  realized  that  there 
was  nothing  terrible  in  it  to  any  one  present 
except  himself.  "Couldn't  you  read  the 
prayers  of  which  you  speak?"  he  asked. 

She  shrank.    '  *  Oh,  no, —  I  couldn  't ! " 

"Then"  (he  forgot  everything  except  his 
passionate  desire  to  aid,  in  however  small  a 
degree,  that  soul  going  away  so  fast)  "would 
you  mind  if  I  read  some  prayers?" 

"Why,"  Mrs.  Creighton  gasped  in  her  in- 


JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH     333 

creasing  surprise,  "I — I  suppose  not.  But  he 
is  unconscious,  you  know." 

"They  are  not  addressed  to  him,"  Desmond 
replied  involuntarily,  "but  to  the  God  before 
whom  he  will  soon  appear.  Since  you  don't 
object,  I'll  get  my  prayer-book." 

He  left  the  room  hastily,  and  in  a  moment 
returned  with  a  book  which,  fortunately,  con- 
tained a  few  at  least  of  the  beautiful  prayers 
of  the  Church  for  the  dying.  Amazement  was 
unquestionably  the  predominant  sentiment  of 
all  present ;  for  to  them  such  an  act,  on  the  part 
of  a  young  man  whose  religion  as  a  general  rule 
sat  very  lightly  upon  him,  seemed  almost 
incredible.  But  the  Protestant  shame  of 
appearing  religious,  and  the  Anglo-Saxon 
dread  of  exhibiting  feeling,  were  alike  unknown 
to  Desmond's  Catholic  and  Celtic  soul.  That  he 
was  not  the  person  who  should  have  given  this 
last  aid  to  the  dying,  he  would  have  been  the 
first  to  acknowledge;  but,  since  there  was 
nobody  else  to  offer  it,  he  flung  himself  into  the 
breach  with  characteristic  ardor,  and  absolute 
lack  of  any  thought  of  how  his  act  would  be 
regarded  by  the  wondering  group  around  him. 
There  was  simply  something  for  him  to  do — the 
last  earthly  service  possible  for  him  to  render 
to  the  dying  kinsman  whom  he  had  learned  to 
love, — and  he  proceeded  to  do  it  without 
hesitation. 

Opening  his  book,  he  knelt  at  the  foot  of  the 


334     JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH 

bed;  the  others  followed  his  example,  and  only 
Virgil 's  smothered  sobs  broke  the  silence  on 
which  rose  those  beautiful  prayers  for  the 
departing  soul,  in  which  the  Church  seems  to 
have  attained  her  greatest  height  of  impas- 
sioned and  pathetic  utterance.  One  person  at 
least  among  those  who  listened  was  quite  sure 
that  she  would  never  forget  the  touching  effect 
of  that  grave,  melodious  voice  flowing  in  a 
steady  stream  of  majestic  words,  imploring  the 
mercy  of  God  for  him  who  lay  breathing  out 
his  soul;  one  whose  noble  and  upright  life  had 
been  lived  with  little  supernatural  aid;  had 
indeed  been  fashioned  on  the  great  old  pagan 
ideals  rather  than  on  Christian  models,  but  to 
whom  the  tender  passage  in  the  "Agricola"  of 
Tacitus  might  have  been  applied :  ' '  If  there  be 
any  place  for  the  spirits  of  the  good — if,  as  wise 
men  believe,  great  souls  do  not  perish  with  the 
body, — mayst  thou  rest  in  peace  V 

The  memory  of  this  passage  was  in  Des- 
mond's mind,  but  he  did  not  utter  it;  instead 
he  read  even  more  touching  words,  drawn  from 
an  ancient  Spanish  liturgy:  "Receive  him,  0 
Lord,  to  Thine  eternal  rest,  and  give  him  the 
grace  of  Thy  vision !  May  he  find  a  part  in  the 
resurrection  of  the  dead.  Among  them  that 
wash  their  robes  in  the  well  of  light,  may  he 
make  his  raiment  clean;  among  them  that 
knock,  may  he  open  the  gates  of  that  Jerusalem 
which  is  in  heaven;  and  among  them  that  see 


JUDGE  WARGBAYE'S  DEATH     335 

God,  may  he  behold  Hiin  face  to  face  ever- 
more." 

Then,  as  the  long,  gasping  breaths  grew 
slower  and  fainter,  there  came  the  solemn 
adjuration,  "Depart,  0  Christian  soul,  out  of 
this  miserable  world,"  so  familiar  to  Catholic 
ears,  and  so  unfamiliar  to  those  outside  the 
Church.  Its  lofty  beauty  of  idea  and  phrase 
thrilled  Hester  Landon  like  noble  music;  and 
as  she  listened  the  thought  came  to  her  that  it 
was  appropriate  that  he  whose  son,  in  his  own 
pathetic  words,  had  been  given  back  to  him  by 
the  agency  of  the  Faith  he  had  ignorantly  des- 
pised, should  now  pass  out  of  life  to  the  sound 
of  Catholic  prayers.  It  was  as  if  the  great 
Mother  whom  he  had  never  known,  from  whose 
care  ancestral  sins  had  torn  him  before  ever  he 
came  into  the  world,  had  gathered  him  into  her 
arms  at  last,  crying  in  appealing  supplication : 
"May  Christ  Jesus,  the  Son  of  the  living  God, 
place  thee  in  His  garden  of  paradise ;  and  may 
He,  the  true  Shepherd,  own  thee  for  one  of  His 
flock.  May  He  absolve  thee  from  all  thy  sins, 
and  place  thee  at  His  right  hand  in  the  inheri- 
tance of  His  elect.  Oh,  may  it  be  thy  happy  lot 
to  behold  thy  Redeemer  face  to  face ;  to  be  ever 
in  His  presence,  in  the  beatific  vision  of  that 
Eternal  Truth  which  is  the  joy  of  the  blessed ! " 

The  girl  shivered  from  head  to  foot  under 
the  deep  passion  of  the  imploring  words;  and 
as  she  glanced  at  the  dying  man  she  saw  his 


336      JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH 

breast  rise  in  one  long,  soft  breath,  and  then  lie 
still.  The  soul  had  gone  to  find  that  Eternal 
Truth  which  here  so  many  vainly  seek. 

It  was  a  few  hours  after  Judge  Wargrave's 
death  that  Mrs.  Creighton  sent  for  Desmond. 
He  had  already  seen  her  several  times,  and 
received  her  directions  for  the  arrangements  to 
be  made  in  preparation  for  the  funeral;  but 
when  he  went  to  her  room  now,  he  at  once  per- 
ceived that  something  beside  these  arrange- 
ments was  engaging  her  attention.  Mrs. 
Selwyn,  who,  with  her  son,  had  come  out  to 
Hillcrest  as  soon  as  the  news  of  the  Judge's 
death  reached  her,  was  sitting  with  her;  and 
Edith,  who  did  not  turn  around  at  his  entrance, 
was  standing  at  a  window.  There  was  a 
moment's  pause  as  Desmond  entered  the  room, 
and  then — 

"You  sent  for  me,  Aunt  Rachel?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Creighton  answered,  a  little 
hesitatingly.  "I — I  feel  that  there  is  some- 
thing we  ought  to  consider,  Laurence.  Please 
sit  down." 

Somewhat  reluctantly,  for  he  had  an  instinct 
of  what  was  coming,  Desmond  sat  down,  and 
then  again  had  to  prod  her  hesitation  by 
saying : 

"Well,  what  is  it  that  you  feel  we  ought  to 
consider  ?" 

"It  is  about  this  girl  who  claims  to  be 
Harry's    daughter,"    she    answered.     "Edith 


JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH     337 

thinks  that  I  have  been  very — er — precipitate 
and  imprudent  in  accepting  her  as  what  she 
claims  to  be ;  and  Cousin  Elizabeth  agrees  with 
her.  So  we  have  decided  that  I  should  ask  you, 
who  seem  to  believe  the  story,  what  proof  you 
have  had  of  its  truth  ?" 

"Why,  really  none  at  all,"  Desmond  said 
calmly,  "unless  you  accept  as  proof  her  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  those  events  in  Harry 
Wargrave's  life  which  no  stranger  could  know 
— the  knowledge  which  made  it  possible  for 
Father  Martin  to  communicate  the  confession 
that  cleared  him, — and,  I  may  add,  the  striking 
likeness  to  her  grandmother  which  you  have  all 
recognized. ' ' 

The  two  elder  ladies  looked  at  each  other 
with  a  startled  air ;  they  had  plainly  forgotten 
the  likeness  which  spoke  so  clearly  of  the  truth 
of  Hester's  claim. 

"Resemblances  of  that  kind  are  sometimes 
accidental, ' '  Mrs.  Selwyn  suggested. 

"Sometimes,  yes,"  Desmond  agreed.  "But, 
taken  in  connection  with  other  facts,  it  consti- 
tutes in  this  case  very  strong  evidence.  Judg- 
ing from  what  I  have  seen  of  Miss  Landon,"  he 
added,  "I  should  say  that  if  you  ask  her  for 
proof  of  her  identity,  you  will  readily  obtain  it. 
Personally,  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  she 
is  the  person  she  claims  to  be ;  but  I  can  under- 
stand your  position — your  hesitation. ' ' 

"I  thought  you   would  understand,"   Mrs. 


338     JUDGE  WARGRAVE'S  DEATH 

Creighton  said  eagerly.  "Somehow  when  she 
spoke  to  us,  I  had  not  any  doubt  of  her  truth- 
fulness. But  no  doubt  I  was  too  precipitate; 
one  has  to  consider  many  things. ' ' 

"I  am  sure  that  you  only  desire  to  consider 
doing  what  is  right, ' '  Desmond  told  her ;  ' '  and 
of  course  it  is  right  to  be  cautious  in  a  matter 
of  such  importance.  May  I  not  ask  Miss  Lan- 
don  to  come  to  you  and  tell  her  story  more  in 
detail?" 

Again  a  quick  glance  was  exchanged  by  the 
two  ladies,  and  then  they  both  looked  at  Edith, 
who  did  not  stir,  but  whose  motionless  attitude 
seemed  to  express  the  closest  attention. 

"I  hardly  think  that  would  settle  the 
matter,' '  Mrs.  Creighton  said  appealingly. 
"You  see  there  are  so  many  things  to  consider! 
There's  the  funeral, — if  she  is  really  Harry's 
daughter,  she  must  take  her  rightful  place  in  it. 
But  I  can  not  accept  the  responsibility  of  put- 
ting her  there.  So  Edith — I  mean  we  all  think 
that  Mr.  Blaisdell  should  be  asked  to  come  and 
— er — advise  us  what  to  do." 

"Mr.  Blaisdell?"  Desmond  said  with  some 
surprise.  "I  had  not  thought  of  him ;  but  there 
can  be  no  objection  to  his  coming  to  settle  the 
matter  to  your  satisfaction.  I  am  sure  Miss 
Landon  will  have  no  objection  to  seeing  him." 

' i  Then  will  you  explain  it  to  her,  and  will  you 
ask  him  to  come?"  Mrs.  Creighton  began  in  a 
relieved  tone,  when  Edith  suddenly  interrupted 


JUDGE  WAEGRAVE'S  DEATH     339 

her  by  turning  around  and  speaking  for  the 
first  time. 

"Mr.  Blaisdell  is  driving  up  to  the  house 
now,"  she  said.  "I  would  suggest  that  you 
send  for  him  at  once,  mamma ;  and,  although  I 
am  not  a  member  of  the  family,  I  must  ask  to 
be  present  at  the  interview  with  him,  in  order 
to  tell  what  I  saw  and  heard  last  night. ' ' 

Desmond  rose  from  his  seat. 

"In  that  case,"  he  said,  "I  will  go  and  bring 
Miss  Landon,  that  she  may  also  be  present." 

"Take  her  to  my  brother's  sitting-room," 
Mrs.  Creighton  said  hurriedly.  "We  will  all 
meet  there." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL 

Astonishment  is  hardly  a  strong  enough 
term  to  express  the  mental  condition  of  that 
excellent  lawyer,  Mr.  Blaisdell,  when,  on  com- 
ing to  pay  a  call  of  sympathy  and  respect  to 
the  family  of  his  old  friend  and  client,  he  was 
confronted  with  the  situation  which  had  so  un- 
expectedly developed  in  that  family. 

Desmond,  hurrying  downstairs,  met  him  as 
he  entered  the  house ;  and,  after  a  few  words  on 
the  subject  of  the  Judge's  sudden  death,  drew 
him  aside  and  communicated  the  discovery  of 
the  relationship  of  the  young  nurse  to  Harry 
Wargrave.  As  amazed  as  he  was  interested, 
Mr.  Blaisdell  would  willingly  have  discussed 
the  matter  in  detail ;  but  he  found  himself  hur- 
ried up  to  Mrs.  Creighton,  where  the  clear 
statement  he  had  received  below  proved  of 
inestimable  value  in  enabling  him  to  compre- 
hend that  lady's  somewhat  incoherent  remarks. 
In  one  opinion,  however,  he  was  at  once  pre- 
pared to  agree  with  her. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  in  his  somewhat  abrupt 
fashion,  "it  is  highly  important  to   examine 

340 


LAURENCE  BURXS  THE  WILL  341 

such  a  claim  immediately.  Glad  you  didn't 
defer  it.  If  this  girl  is  an  impostor,  we  can't 
know  it  too  soon." 

"Ok,  I  don't  tkink  ske  can  be  an  impostor!" 
Mrs.  Creigkton  deprecated. 

"Ske  is  eitker  an  impostor  or  ske  is  Harry 
Wargrave's  daughter,"  Mr.  Blaisdell  stated 
positively.  "There  is  no  alternative.  It  looks 
badly  that  she  waited  to  spring  the  matter  upon 
you  until  the  Judge  was  dying — " 

"It  seems  that  she  had  told  him,  and  that  he 
believed  her  story,"  Mrs.  Creighton  again 
interrupted. 

Mr.  Blaisdell  thrust  out  his  lower  lip. 

"Have  we  any  proof  beside  her  word  for 
that?"  he  inquired. 

"None."  It  was  Edith's  clear-cut  tones 
which  answered.  "We  know  only  what  she 
chooses  to  tell  us  of  what  passed  between  them 
last  night,  with  the  exception  of  a  little — a  very 
little — of  the  conversation  which  I  chanced  to 
overhear. ' ' 

"Ah!"  The  lawyer's  keen  glance  turned  on 
her.  "You  overheard  something !  Do  you  mind 
telling  me  what  it  was?" 

"I  should  prefer  telling  you  in  the  presence 
of  Miss  Landon,"  Edith  replied. 

"Right, — quite  right!"  There  was  unquali- 
fied approval  in  Mr.  Blaisdell 's  tone.  "But 
where  is  Miss — er — Landon!" 

"I  asked  Laurence  Desmond  to  take  her  to 


342  LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL 

my  brother's  sitting-room,"  Mrs.  Creighton 
said.  "Shall  we  go  there  now!  Elizabeth,  of 
course  you  will  come.  And  I  think"  (she 
glanced  questioningly  at  the  lawyer)  "that 
Eobert  should  be  present  also. ' ' 

" Certainly, ' '  Mr.  Blaisdell  assented.  "It  is 
a  matter  which  concerns  all  the  family.  Robert 
Selwyn  should  be  present. " 

The  bell  was  therefore  rung,  a  message  was 
sent  to  Mr.  Selwyn,  and,  with  a  surprised  look 
on  his  round,  good-humored  face,  he  presently 
joined  the  family  party  in  the  sitting-room,  so 
associated  with  the  presence  of  Judge  War- 
grave  that  it  seemed  still  pervaded  by  it,  in  that 
subtle  way  in  which  the  dead  haunt  the  scenes 
where  they  have  dwelt  in  life.  Bobby  promptly 
joined  Edith,  who  was  again  standing  by  a 
window,  apart  from  the  group,  composed  of 
the  two  ladies  and  Mr.  Blaisdell,  who  had 
seated  themselves  beside  the  large  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  meaning  of  this!"  he 
whispered  to  her.  * '  It  looks  like  the  convening 
of  a  court  of  inquiry. ' ' 

"  It  is  a  court  of  inquiry, ' '  she  told  him.  ' '  We 
are  here  to  help  Mr.  Blaisdell  examine  an  extra- 
ordinary claim  which  has  been  made — " 

"By  Desmond?" 

1  i  No :  by  the  trained  nurse  concerning  whom 
I  talked  to  you  not  long  ago.  You  remember  I 
said  there  was  a  mystery  about  her?" 


LAUKEXCE  BURXS  THE  WILL  343 


. < 


Of  course  I  remember.  You  were  quite 
certain  about  it,  and  thought  she  was  married 
to  Desmond." 

"Oh,  that  was  a  mere  conjecture!"  Miss 
Creighton  said  hastily.  ' '  It  seems  that,  instead 
of  anything  of  that  kind,  she  had  told  him  that 
she  was  Harry  Wargrave's  daughter,  and  he 
believed  her." 

"Harry  Wargrave's  daughter!"  Bobby 
looked  as  astounded  as  he  felt.  "Why,  we 
never  knew — " 

"That  he  had  a  daughter?  That  is  what 
every  one  says.  So  you  see  how  necessary  it  is 
to  examine  the  story  before  it  is  accepted 
further. ' ' 

"Who  has  accepted  it  besides  Desmond?" 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  mamma  has. 
She  is  not  usually  impulsive,  but  she  has  acted 
very  impulsively  in  this  matter;  and — but  here 
they  come  now ! ' ' 

She  looked  toward  the  door,  which  opened 
at  the  moment,  and  Desmond  ushered  Hester 
Landon  into  the  room.  Every  eye  was  fixed  on 
them,  and  certainly  they  made  a  striking  pair, 
— the  girl  with  her  pure,  pale  face,  her  lucid 
eyes  and  white  dress ;  and  the  young  man  with 
his  distinction  of  appearance  and  manner. 
Instinctively  the  lawyer  rose  as  they  entered; 
and  it  was  Desmond  who  spoke,  after  he  had 
placed  a  chair  for  Hester  and  stood  beside  her. 

"This  young  lady,  Mr.  Blaisdell,  has  been 


344  LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL 

here  some  time  as  Miss  Landon ;  but  now  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  introducing  her  to  you,  and  to 
all  whom  it  may  concern' '  (his  glance  took  in 
the  Selwyns),  "as  Miss  Wargrave,  the 
daughter  of  Judge  Wargrave 's  only  son." 

Mr.  Blaisdell  bowed.  He  acknowledged 
afterward  that  he  had  never  in  his  life  been 
more  startled  than  by  the  striking  resemblance 
which  the  girl  bore  to  her  grandmother,  and  of 
which  he  had  not  been  warned.  This  resem- 
blance seemed  indeed  to  offer  so  strong  a  proof 
of  her  being  Harry  Wargrave 's  daughter  that 
he  had  difficulty  in  checking  his  inclination  to 
admit  the  fact  at  once;  but,  after  an  instant's 
hesitation,  he  said  gravely: 

"I  could  not  be  other  than  very  happy  to 
meet  the  granddaughter  of  my  old  friend;  but 
I  am  sure  that  Miss — er — Wargrave  will  not 
misunderstand  me  when  I  say  that  such  a  claim, 
brought  so  unexpectedly,  must  be  closely  ex- 
amined and  clearly  proved." 

"I  do  not  misunderstand  you  in  the  least," 
Hester  answered  calmly.  "But  I  must  correct 
you  a  little.  I  have  not  brought  any  '  claim ' : 
I  have  only  stated  certain  facts  which  are  very 
easily  proved.  My  father's  marriage  and  my 
birth  are  on  record  in  San  Francisco;  and  I 
could  bring  many  witnesses  to  my  identity,  if 
it  were  necessary  to  do  so.  But  it  is  not  neces- 
sary. I  came  here  to  fulfil  a  certain  task,  which, 
by  the  help  of  God,  I  have  accomplished;  and, 


LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL  345 

this  being  done,  I  have  no  claim  of  any  kind  to 
make,  and  nothing  to  ask — not  even  the  recog- 
nition of  my  right  to  bear  my  father's  name." 

"The  name  which  she  has  cleared  of  any 
shadow  of  dishonor,"  Desmond  interposed, 
addressing  Mr.  Blaisdell,  who  had  now  resumed 
his  seat.  "With  your  permission"  (he  spoke 
to  Hester),  "I  should  like  to  tell  what  I  know 
of  this  matter. ' ' 

She  gave  him  a  grateful  glance. 

1 '  Tell  it  by  all  means, ' '  she  said. 

Standing  then,  with  his  hand  on  the  back  of 
her  chair,  Desmond  faced  the  group,  who  were 
all  now  gathered  about  the  table ;  and  so  facing 
them,  like  an  advocate  in  a  court  of  law,  he 
related  the  story  of  his  entire  connection  with 
the  chain  of  events  which  had  ended  by  bring- 
ing Harry  Wargrave's  daughter  into  her 
father's  home.  His  journalistic  capacity  and 
experience  told  in  the  manner  in  which  he  pre- 
sented his  facts, — marshalling  them  impres- 
sively, describing  dramatically  the  railway 
accident,  and  all  that  resulted  from  it;  the 
demand  of  the  injured  man  for  a  priest,  the 
unavoidable  delay  which  brought  him  to  the 
very  moment  of  death  before  the  priest 
arrived;  his  confession,  his  failure  to  mention 
an  essential  name,  and  therefore  the  inability 
of  the  priest  to  make  the  restitution  of  char- 
acter which  the  confession  demanded.  Then  in 
brief  words  he  described  the  interposition  of 


346  LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL 

the  nurse,  who,  in  the  strange  providence  of 
God,  had  kept  the  injured  man  alive  until  the 
priest  could  reach  him,  and  the  manner  in  which 
she  supplied  the  necessary  key  to  the  confes- 
sion. He  spoke  of  Father  Martin's  letter  to 
Judge  Wargrave,  and  was  interrupted  by  an 
exclamation  from  Mr.  Blaisdell. 

' '  So, ' '  he  said,  as  Dr.  Glynn  had  said  before 
him,  "that  was  the  letter  which  caused  his 
stroke  J ' ' 

"Yes,"  Desmond  answered;  "and,  in  order 
that  no  one  may  have  any  doubt  of  the  fact,  I 
will,  with  my  aunt's  and  Miss  Wargrave 's  per- 
mission, produce  the  letter  and  ask  you  to  read 
it. ' '  He  stepped  to  the  desk,  opened  the  drawer 
in  which  he  had  placed  the  letter  when  he  drew 
it  from  the  Judge's  fingers  on  the  morning  of 
his  fatal  seizure,  and  held  it  out  toward  Mrs. 
Creighton.    "You  remember  it,  do  you  not?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered;  "I  remember  it  by  the 
printed  stamp — the  name  of  the  Catholic 
church — on  the  envelope,  which  made  me 
wonder,  when  I  came  to  think  the  matter  over, 
if  it  did  not  in  some  way  relate  to  you." 

' '  You  will  find  that  it  does  not  relate  to  me  at 
all,"  he  said,  "and  that  I  have  played  no  part 
in  the  matter — " 

"Oh,  yes!"  (It  was  Hester  who  spoke 
quickly.)  "You  played  a  great  part  in  it.  I 
must  tell  all  who  are  interested  in  this  clearing 
of    Harry    Wargrave 's    name    from    a    false 


LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL  347 

shadow  of  dishonor,  that  it  would  never  have 
been  cleared  but  for  you.  It  was  he  who  ran  a 
mile  to  get  the  priest  for  the  dying  man,"  she 
said,  looking  at  Mrs.  Creighton  and  Mr.  Blais- 
dell.  "But  for  that  Judge  Wargrave  would 
have  died  without  knowing  the  truth  about  his 
son.  If "  (the  words  seemed  impulsively  forced 
from  her)  "you  have  ever  regretted  that  he 
who  is  to  take  up  the  Wargrave  trust  does  not 
hold  the  same  religion  as  those  who  went  before 
him,  you  may  be  glad  of  it  now;  for  only  a 
Catholic  would  have  made  such  an  effort  to 
bring  to  that  man  the  priest  to  whom  alone  he 
would  have  confessed  the  truth. ' ' 

They  looked  at  each  other  with  a  quick, 
startled  gaze;  and  for  a  moment  at  least  their 
souls  did  involuntary  homage,  as  in  a  similar 
moment  Judge  Wargrave  had  done,  to  the  wis- 
dom of  the  great  Church,  which  has  maintained 
so  inflexibly  the  essential  character  of  that 
sacrament  which  was  the  first  that  human 
nature,  in  its  revolt  against  divine  authority, 
cast  away,  and  which  Protestants  have  been 
most  sedulously  taught  to  dislike  and  distrust. 
Then  Mr.  Blaisdell  extended  his  hand  for  the 
letter. 

He  read  aloud,  in  the  silence  of  profound 
attention,  the  explicit  words  in  which  the  priest 
related  the  confession  of  the  dead  man, — the 
confession  which  told  how  he  had  taken  advan- 
tage   of    Harry    Wargrave 's    friendship    and 


348  LAURENCE  BUENS  THE  WILL 

ignorance  of  business  methods,  to  throw  upon 
him  the  suspicion  of  defalcations  and  forgery, 
which,  when  discovered,  had  seemed  to  cast  the 
proud  Wargrave  honor  into  the  dust.  Father 
Martin  ended  by  saying  that  if  Judge  War- 
grave  wished  to  see  him  with  regard  to  any 
details  of  the  confession,  he  would  be  glad  to 
respond  to  a  summons  at  any  time;  and  when 
Mr.  Blaisdell  looked  up  from  the  letter,  he 
addressed  Mrs.  Creighton. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  you  will  wish  me 
to  call  and  thank  Father  Martin  for  putting 
this  complete  exculpation  in  such  decisive  form, 
and  also  to  obtain  from  him  any  corroborative 
details  that  he  may  be  able  to  furnish.  I  never 
knew  before  how  serious  the  charge  was  against 
Harry  Wargrave;  although,  knowing  his 
father 's  high  sense  of  justice  as  well  as  his  deep 
attachment  to  him,  I  was  sure  it  must  be  very 
serious.    But  this  explains  everything." 

"And  you  must  not  forget"  (it  was  Desmond 
who  again  interposed)  "that  Father  Martin 
could  not  have  divulged  that  confession  if 
Harry  Wargrave 's  daughter  had  not  supplied 
the  key — by  her  statement  of  Tracy's  connec- 
tion with  him — which  enabled  the  priest  to 
apply  the  story.  When  I  heard  this,"  the 
speaker  went  on,  ' '  I  felt  convinced  that  she  was 
in  some  way  closely  related  to  the  man  who  had 
suffered  so  undeservedly,  and  I  went  immedi- 
ately and  charged  her  with  it.     She  acknowl- 


LAUEEXCE  BUEXS  THE  WILL  349 

edged  that  she  was  his  daughter;  and  then, 
finding  that  she  had  refused  Dr.  Glynn's 
request  to  take  charge  of  Judge  "Wargrave's 
case  as  a  professional  nurse,  I  begged  her  to 
reconsider  that  refusal.  She  was  resolutelv 
determined  to  make  no  claim  of  any  kind  upon 
her  grandfather;  but  I  thought — that  is,  I 
hoped — that  if  she  were  once  under  his  roof  and 
associated  with  him,  matters  might  arrange 
themselves.  I  did  not,  however,  anticipate  that 
her  likeness  to  her  grandmother  would  be 
recognized  as  soon  as  she  entered  the  house." 

It  was  now  Mrs.  Creighton  and  Mrs.  Selwyn 
who  glanced  at  each  other  with  looks  which 
acknowledged  that  this  was  indeed  evidence 
that  could  not  be  gainsaid.  Meanwhile  Des- 
mond went  on : 

""When  the  likeness  was  recognized,  I  begged 
her  to  let  me  tell  my  aunt  who  she  was ;  but  I 
could  not  induce  her  to  do  so, — could  make  no 
impression  upon  her  determination  to  remain 
unknown.  Onlv  vesterdav  afternoon,  in  the 
garden,  we  talked  of  the  matter;  and  she  was 
still  obdurate,  though  she  confessed  that  her 
feeling  toward  her  grandfather  had  changed. 
But  something  occurred,  after  she  returned  to 
the  house,  to  bring  out  the  revelation  of  her 
identity;  and  what  that  was  she  will  no  doubt 
tell  vou." 

With  the  last  words,  he  turned  toward  Hes- 


350  LAUBEXCE  BUBXS  THE  WILL 

ter,  who  took  up  the  thread  of  his  story  without 
hesitation. 

' '  I  have  already  told  you,  ' '  she  said,  address- 

*J  «/  /  7 

ing  Mrs.  Creighton,  "that  when  I  came  in 
yesterday  evening  I  found  Judge  Wargrave  in 
a  singularly  clear  mental  condition;  that  he 
remembered  and  insisted  upon  hearing  me  read 
the  letter  to  which  you  have  just  listened,  and 
that  his  comments  on  it  forced  from  me  the 
avowal  of  who  I  am.  This  revelation  had  no 
immediately  bad  effect  upon  him;  and  in  the 
hours  which  we  afterward  spent  together  he 
insisted  upon  my  telling  him  all  about  my 
father's  life,  as  far  as  it  could  be  told  in  so 
short  a  time.  I  was  afraid  of  too  much  cerebral 
excitement,  and  urged  him  again  and  again  to 
wait  until  to-day  to  hear  more;  but  he  said" 
(her  voice  faltered  a  little  here)  "that,  in  his 
condition,  he  could  not  count  on  a  single  day, 
and  that  he  wanted  to  hear  everything  I  was 
able  to  tell  him.  I  could  not  refuse — I  am  glad 
now  that  I  did  not  refuse,  for  it  gave  him  so 
much  pleasure, — and  then  an  idea,  which  I  had 
feared  might  develop  from  all  this,  took  pos- 
session of  his  mind.  He  began  to  think  of  his 
will.  > ' 

There  was  a  short  pause — one  of  those 
pauses  which  are  full  of  electrical  intensity  of 
interest  and  expectation, — while  the  clear  tones 
ceased  for  a  moment,  and  then  calmly  resumed : 

"I  urged  him  not  to  think  of  it,  and  assured 


LAUBEXCE  BURXS  THE  WILL  351 

him  that  I  was  perfectly  satisfied  for  all  to 
remain  as  he  had  arranged  it ;  but  he  would  not 
hear  of  this.  He  grew  dangerously  excited. 
'What!'  he  said,  'Shall  every  one  else,  even  my 
old  servants,  be  remembered,  and  my  son's 
daughter  be  ignored?  I  could  not  rest  in  my 
grave  if  that  were  so. '  Then  he  told  me  to  get 
his  will.  I  begged  him  not  to  insist  upon  this ; 
to  wait  until  to-dav  and  send  for  vou"  (she 
spoke  to  Mr.  Blaisdell).  "But  he  would  listen 
to  nothing.  'He  can  come  to-morrow,'  he  said; 
'but  meanwhile  I  might  die  to-night,  and  that 
will  would  be  in  existence.  It  must  be  des- 
troyed.'— 'But  you  forget  the  Wargrave  trust, 
and  what  would  happen  to  it  if  you  died  with- 
out a  will,'  I  reminded  him,  in  order  to  induce 
him  to  put  the  matter  off. ' ' 

"Ah,"  Mr.  Blaisdell  leaned  forward,  "there 
was  nothing  nearer  to  his  heart  than  the  War- 
grave  trust!    What  did  he  say  to  that?" 

' '  He  said  nothing  at  first, ' '  Hester  answered. 
"He  looked  at  me  with  eyes  which  I  shall  never 
forget,  so  piteous  were  they.  Then  he  said 
slowly:  'I  must  choose  between  the  greater 
and  the  lesser  dishonor.  If  I  die  before  I  can 
find  means  to  secure  the  Wargrave  trust,  the 
great  Judge  above  will  know  that  it  was  because 
I  could  not  be  guilty  of  injustice  to  one  already 
so  deeply  wronged.  You  must  burn  the  will, 
or  I  will  do  it  myself. '  ' ' 


352  LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL 

Again  Mr.  Blaisdell  uttered  a  sharp  ex- 
clamation. 

"And  did  you  burn  it?"  he  demanded. 

Hester  looked  at  Edith  with,  for  the  first 
time,  something  like  a  challenge  in  her  glance. 

"Miss  Creighton  will  tell  you  that  I  did," 
she  replied. 

Then  Edith  addressed  Mr.  Blaisdell. 

"You  will  remember,"  she  said  to  him,  "that 
I  spoke  to  you  of  something  which  I  preferred 
to  tell  you  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Landon.  It 
is  briefly  this.  I  was  warned  by  Virgil  last 
night  that  there  was  some  great  change  in  my 
uncle's  condition,  and  I  came  upstairs  to  see 
for  myself  what  was  really  going  on  between 
himself  and  the  nurse  (Virgil  also  spoke  of 
her)  before  alarming  mamma  or  telephoning 
for  the  doctor.  When  I  approached  this  room, 
I  heard,  just  as  the  servant  had  described  to 
me,  the  voices  in  earnest,  sustained  conversa- 
tion,— conversation  so  different  from  anything 
of  which  my  uncle  had  been  capable  since  his 
illness  that  it  was  startling  in  the  highest 
degree.  I  thought  it  ought  to  be  stopped,  yet 
I  was  afraid  to  interfere — afraid  of  the  conse- 
quences to  him,  I  mean, — so  I  listened  in  the 
hall  for  some  minutes.  Through  the  closed 
door  I  could  not  hear  what  was  being  said,  but 
I  was  struck  by  the  tone  of  Miss  Landon 's 
voice.  She  seemed  pleading  with  or  urging 
something  upon  him,  and  I  felt  as  if  it  were 


LAURENCE  BURXS  THE  WILL  353 

only  right  that  I  should  know  why  one  who  was 
apparently  only  a  trained  nurse  had  so  far  for- 
gotten her  duty  to  the  patient  under  her  charge 
as  to  excite  him  in  such  a  manner.  I  have 
therefore  no  apologies  to  make  for  the  fact  that 
I  presently  entered  his  chamber,  where  there  is 
a  door"  (she  pointed  toward  it)  "which  com- 
mands this  room.  Behind  that  curtain  I  stood, 
and  I  heard  Judge  Wargrave's  voice — as  clear 
and  ringing  as  it  had  ever  been  in  health — say 
distinctly  and  emphatically :  *  Burn  it !  Let  me 
see  you  burn  it!'  I  must  so  far  corroborate 
Miss  Landon's  story  as  to  say  that  she  seemed 
to  remonstrate,  though  I  could  not  hear  her 
words ;  but  he  repeated,  '  Burn  it ! '  in  those 
tones  of  his  which,  as  we  all  know,  every  one 
always  instinctively  obeyed;  and — " 

"And  then?"  Mr.  Blaisdell  demanded  im- 
patiently; for  at  this  point  Edith  paused,  and 
seemed  for  an  instant  unable  to  proceed. 

"And  then"  (she  looked  now  straight  at 
Hester)  "I  saw  Miss  Landon  lay  a  paper  in 
the  midst  of  the  fire. ' ' 

"So,"  Mr.  Blaisdell  turned  sharply  toward 
the  girl,  ' '  you  did  burn  the  will ! ' ' 

"I  perceived,"  she  answered  quietly,  "that 
nothing  else  would  satisfy  him.  His  excitement 
had  reached  so  dangerous  a  point  that,  to  quiet 
it,  I  must  either  burn  the  will  or  make  him 
believe  that  I  had  done  so.    In  the  large  envel- 


354  LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL 

ope  which  held  it  I  found  two  papers, — does 
anv  one  remember  that  I ' ' 

She  looked  from  the  lawyer  to  Desmond,  but 
both  shook  their  heads. 

"I  never  saw  the  will  after  I  left  it  with  the 
Judge  the  day  it  was  signed, "  Mr.  Blaisdell 
said.  "I  had  brought  it  to  him,  together  with 
the  draft  of  its  contents,  which  he  had  given  me 
that  I  might  prepare  it  properly. ' ' 

"Then  it  was  no  doubt  that  draft  which 
remained  in  the  envelope  when  he  put  the  will 
away,"  Hester  said.  "At  least  I  found  two 
papers  in  this  envelope  when  I  took  it  from  the 
place  he  indicated.    It  was  here." 

She  rose,  and,  with  every  eye  upon  her, 
walked  to  the  desk,  where  she  opened  an  inner 
compartment, — a  small  door  which  closed  with 
lock  and  key.  The  key  was  now  hanging  in  the 
lock;  so  she  flung  back  the  little  shutter,  and 
drew  from  the  space  within  a  long,  blue 
envelope.    Mr.  Blaisdell  nodded  when  he  saw  it. 

"That  held  the  will,"  he  said  briefly;  and  it 
was  apparent  to  all  that  he  spoke  in  the  past 
tense,  because  the  envelope  was  now  evidently 
empty  of  any  enclosure. 

Holding  it  in  her  hand,  Hester  turned  again 
toward  the  group  so  breathlessly  observing 
her;  and  Desmond  was  filled  with  amazement, 
as  well  as  admiration,  by  the  perfectly  uncon- 
scious yet  admirable  dignity  of  her  bearing,  the 
tranquil  grace  of  her  manner,  the  untroubled 


LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL  355 

calmness  of  her  voice,  the  clear  candor  of  her 
glance. 

4 'Yes,  this  held  it,"  she  said.  "From  it  I 
drew  the  signed  paper  which  I  showed  to  him ; 
and  when  he  insisted  that  I  should  let  him  see 
me  burn  it,  I  walked  toward  the  fireplace  and, 
while  my  back  was  turned  to  him,  slipped  the 
will  into  the  envelope,  drew  out  the  other  paper, 
without  being  able  to  examine  what  it  was,  and 
put  it  into  the  fire. ' ' 

"But"  (Mr.  Blaisdell  was  staring  at  her  in 
astonishment,  as  was  everybody  else)  "if  you 
did  not  burn  the  will,  where  is  it?  It  is  not 
there." 

He  pointed  with  a  long,  lean  finger  to  the 
empty  envelope ;  and  she  answered  in  the  same 
tone  of  candor : 

"No,  it  is  not  here,  because,  after  he  went  to 
bed,  I  came  back,  took  it  out  and  concealed  it 
in  another  place,  for  fear  he  should  be  sus- 
picious and  examine  the  envelope  before  I  was 
able  to  give  it  to  you." 

"Then  if  the  will  is  still  in  existence,  where 
is  it?"  the  lawyer  inquired,  with  an  anxiety 
which  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal. 

Hester  turned  to  Desmond,  and  pointed  to 
one  of  the  lower  drawers  of  the  desk. 

' '  You  will  find  it  there, ' '  she  said  to  him.  ' '  I 
slipped  it  in  behind  the  papers,  at  the  back." 

The  young  man  dropped  on  one  knee,  pulled 
open  the  drawer  and  ran  his  hand  into  it.  After 


356  LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL 

an  instant  lie  brought  out  a  long,  folded,  legal 
paper,  upon  which  Mr.  Blaisdell  instantly 
pounced. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  opened  it,  "this  is  the 
Judge 's  will,  just  as  I  prepared  and  he  signed  it 
a  few  weeks  ago. ' ' 

Desmond  took  it  from  his  hand,  and  glanced 
at  it  also.  There  was  certainly  no  doubt  that 
it  was  the  authentic  will  which  preserved  the 
Wargrave  trust.  He  saw  his  own  name,  he 
saw  Selwyn's,  Edith's,  and  various  others;  and 
then,  remembering  what  name  was  absent,  he 
looked  up  and  again  faced  the  assembled 
family,  head  erect  and  eyes  shining. 

"I  must  disagree  with  Mr.  Blaisdell,"  he 
said.  "That  is  not  properly  a  man's  will  which 
is  not  the  expression  of  his  last  wishes  with 
regard  to  the  disposition  of  his  property.  We 
know  now,  not  only  from  the  testimony  of  Miss 
Wargrave  bat  from  that  of  Miss  Creighton, 
that  my  uncle's  wish  with  regard  to  this  will 
was  simply  and  solely  that  it  should  be  burned. 
He  felt  that  it  did  grievous  injustice  not  only 
to  his  granddaughter,  who  is  not  mentioned  in 
it,  but  to  himself,  who  would  never  knowingly 
have  been  guilty  of  such  injustice.  For  the 
sake  of  avoiding  that  wrong,  even  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  Wargrave  trust  became  a  matter  of 
slight  importance  to  him ;  for  he  recognized  that 
to  keep  the  Wargrave  honor  unstained  is  a 
higher  duty  than  to  hold  together  the  Wargrave 


LAURENCE  BURNS  THE  WILL  357 

acres.  His  wishes  were  defeated  by  the  person 
whom  he  asked  to  fulfil  them.  I  understand  the 
high  pride  which  would  not  allow  Miss  War- 
grave  to  destroy  this  will ;  but,  as  its  chief  bene- 
ficiary, I  feel  that  it  is  my  duty  and  my  right  to 
fulfil  my  uncle's  last  earnest  request.  So  I 
doit," 

As  he  ended,  he  strode  to  the  fireplace,  and, 
before  any  of  the  startled  group  could  interfere, 
dropped  the  paper  into  the  heart  of  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION 

The  sound  which  Mr.  Blaisdell  uttered  when 
he  saw  Judge  Wargrave's  will  thrown  into  the 
fire  was  more  like  the  roar  of  a  wild  beast  than 
the  cry  of  an  amazed  and  angry  man.  He 
rushed  forward,  but  Desmond's  strong  young 
arm  held  him  back  from  snatching  the  docu- 
ment out  of  the  blaze.  Then  he  looked  at 
Selwyn. 

"Get  it!"  he  cried.  "Why  the  devil  do  you 
stand  there  doing  nothing?  Snatch  it  out! 
There  may  be  enough  left  to  probate. ' ' 

"Don't  touch  it!"  Desmond  warned  Bobby, 
who  showed  not  the  least  intention  of  attempt- 
ing anything  of  the  kind.  "The  disposition 
which  the  Judge  wanted  made  of  that  paper  is 
going  to  be  made,  no  matter  what  the  law  may 
call  the  act. ' ' 

"The  law  calls  it  so  grave  a  crime  that  you 
render  yourself  liable  to  penitentiary  imprison- 
ment by  committing  the  act,"  the  lawyer  told 
him  indignantly.  "In  the  course  of  a  long  life 
I  have  never  seen  anything,  as  outrageous  so 
daringly  done." 

358 


A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION  359 

"Wouldn't  you  have  done  it  yourself!"  Des- 
mond demanded,  turning  upon  him.  "Would 
you,  would  any  one  here"  (his  eager  glance 
flashed  over  the  assembled  family),  "have 
accepted  what  that  will  gave  me,  knowing  not 
only  that  it  wronged  and  injured  the  rightful 
heir  of  the  man  who  made  it,  but  that  the  last 
earnest  wish  of  the  testator  was  that  it  should 
be  destroyed?  Allow  it  to  stand!  Accept  it!' 
The  color  flew  to  the  ardent  face.  "There  isn't 
law  enough  in  all  Christendom  to  make  me 
do  so." 

Then  Bobby  Selwyn  surprised  every  one  by 
stepping  forward  and  seizing  the  speaker's 
hand. 

' '  You  did  exactly  right ! "  he  declared.  ' '  I  'm 
most  concerned  after  you — for  I  believe  the 
Judge  had  put  me  in  the  entail, — but  I'm  glad 
you  destroyed  the  will,  and  I  heartily  endorse 
all  vou've  said  about  it." 

"Thank  you,  Bobby!"  Desmond  said.  "It 
never  would  have  occurred  to  me  to  imagine 
that  you  wouldn't  endorse  it.  When  it  comes  to 
a  point  of  honor,  men  of  honor  always  think 
alike. ' ' 

Mr.  Blaisdell  regarded  them  both  with  a 
sardonic  glance,  under  which,  however,  some- 
thing like  approval  clearly  lurked. 

"Very  fine  sentiments!"  he  growled.  "But 
I  don't  think  they  excuse  lawbreaking.  I  grant 
that  it  seems  clearly  proved,  by  the  separate 


360  A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION 

but  corroborating  testimony  of  the  two  young 
ladies  whose  stories  we  have  heard,  that  Judge 
Wargrave  very  much  desired  the  destruction  of 
that  will,  and  believed  that  it  had  been  des- 
troyed. But  the  fact  remains  that  he  merely 
intended  its  destruction  to  guard  against  what 
has — er — " 

"Happened."  Desmond's  clear-cut  tones 
supplied  the  word  as  he  hesitated.  "Judge 
Wargrave  feared  that  he  might  die  before  he 
could  execute  another  will  which  would  provide 
for  his  granddaughter;  and  he  also  knew  that, 
if  he  did  not  die,  another  stroke  might  again 
deprive  him  of  his  suddenly  and  strangely 
regained  power  of  speech.  But  he  was  willing 
to  take  either  risk  rather  than  leave  that"  (the 
young  man  flung  out  his  hand  toward  the  black 
mass  of  burned  paper  which  lay  on  the  top  of 
the  fire)  "to  misrepresent  him,  and  to  work 
injustice  when  he  would  be  powerless  to  pre- 
vent it.  Even  the  preservation  of  the  War- 
grave  trust — so  near  his  heart,  as  you  have 
said — became  of  less  importance  than  securing 
this.  And  I  can't  believe  that  there  is  any  one 
here"  (again  the  bright,  challenging  glance 
swept  the  circle)  "who  does  not  feel  that  I  have 
rightly  interpreted  and  executed  his  wishes  in 
what  I  have  done." 

This  time  it  was  Mrs.  Creighton  who  an- 
swered him,  quickly,  impulsively,  as  few  people 
had  ever  heard  her  speak  before : 


A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION  361 

' '  I  am  sure  of  it,  Laurence ;  and,  as  the  only 
one  now  living  among  those  who  were  nearest 
to  him  during  his  life,  I  thank  you  for  having 
done  it.  I  am  sorry  about  the  Wargrave  trust ; 
but  I  recognize  that  it  was  better  for  it  to  be 
broken  at  last  than  for  my  brother  to  appear 
to  disown  the  claim  of  the  daughter  of  his  son, 
— the  son  whom  he  had  so  deeply  and  sadly 
wronged. ' ' 

Desmond  walked  across  the  floor  and  took  her 
hand. 

"I  could  not  regret  what  I  have  done  under 
any  circumstances,' '  he  said;  "but  I  can't  tell 
you  how  grateful  I  am  for  your  approval,  Aunt 
Rachel." 

"I  couldn't  fail  to  approve,"  she  said,  with 
moist  eyes.  "It  not  only  seems  to  me  what 
should  have  been  done,  but  I  like  your  manner 
of  doing  it ;  and  I  am  glad  that  you  have  showed 
so  unmistakably  that  you  are — I  mean  that  you 
were — worthy  to  be  the  heir  of  the  men  who 
have  been  here  before  vou." 

Then  Edith,  with  something  between  a  sob 
and  a  laugh,  also  held  out  her  hand. 

"Mamma  is  slightly  incoherent,"  she  said; 
"but  I  understand  what  she  means,  and  I  agree 
with  her.  We  all  approve  of  what  you  have 
done,  Laurence;  although  I  suppose  Mr.  Blais- 
dell  disapproves  of  us." 

Mr.  Blaisdell  was  indeed  shaking  his  head  in 
grave  reprobation  of  the  whole  business. 


362  A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION 

"You  are  approving  a  very  serious  offence," 
he  told  them.  "To  destroy  a  man's  last  will 
and  testament  is  regarded  by  the  law  as  so 
grave  a  matter  that  the  penalty,  as  I  have 
already  said,  is  very  severe.  However,  it  is 
destroyed  now,  and  we  must  therefore  consider 
the  result,  which  is  to  make  this  young  lady'' 
(he  turned  toward  Hester)  "the  sole  heir  of 
Judge  Wargrave's  estate,  including  all  that 
has  heretofore  constituted  the  Wargrave 
trust.  I  mean,  of  course,  that  it  will  make  her 
the  heir  when  she  has  proved  according  to  legal 
requirements  that  she  is  the  only  child  of  the 
Judge's  son."  He  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
added,  "I  feel  that  I  should  express  myself, 
and  I  think  for  all  present  as  well,  admiration 
and  appreciation  of  her  conduct  in  regard  to 
this  matter.  There  are  few  people  who  would 
have  been  capable  of  such  disinterestedness  as 
she  has  displayed. ' ' 

Hester,  who  had  not  uttered  a  word  or  sound 
of  any  kind  since  she  gave  an  audible  gasp  when 
Desmond  flung  the  will  into  the  fire,  now  turned 
toward  the  speaker  a  face  pale  with  emotion, 
out  of  which  the  eyes  were  shining  like  stars. 

"You  are  extremely  kind,"  she  told  him  in 
her  low,  clear  voice;  "but  it  seems  to  me  that 
what  I  did  was  very  simple,  and  the  only  right 
thing  to  do  under  the  circumstances.  I  had 
not  come  here  to  claim  anything,  and  my  father 
would  have  desired  as  much  as  any  one  who 


A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION  363 

went  before  him  that  the  Wargrave  trust 
should  be  preserved.  I  was  anxious,  therefore, 
that  it  should  not  be  endangered  in  any  way 
through  me,  that  my  grandfather's  wishes 
should  be  exactly  carried  out  as  he  expressed 
them  before  he  knew  of  my  existence.  I  am 
sorry  that  the  will  has  been  destroyed.  I 
understand  the  impulse  under  which  it  was 
destroyed,  but  it  was  a  mistake.  I  have  no 
intention  of  taking  the  Wargrave  estate.' ' 

"As  far  as  that  is  concerned,  you  will  not  be 
able  to  avoid  taking  it, ' '  the  lawyer  said,  a  little 
dryly.  "When  your  claim  is  once  established, 
the  law  will  recognize  no  other  heir.  But  I  may 
remind  you  that  it  will  be  in  your  power  to 
establish  again  the  Wargrave  trust.' ' 

They  all  saw  the  light  that  flashed  into  her 
face. 

' l  Ah ! ' '  she  exclaimed.    ' '  I  can  do  that  f ' ' 

"Certainly  you  can  do  that,"  he  replied. 
' '  The  estate  will  come  to  you  free  of  any  encum- 
brances or  claims  whatsoever." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  at  him, 
as  if  taking  this  in  fully;  then,  with  a  sudden 
impulsive  movement,  she  advanced  toward  Mrs. 
Creighton. 

"You  approved  the  destruction  of  the  will  a 
few  minutes  ago,"  she  said  to  her,  "because  it 
ignored  the  claim  of  one  who  had  been  greatly, 
although  unconsciously,  wronged;  but  I  am 
sure  that  in  your  heart  you  must  have  regretted 


i  i 
it 


364  A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION 

deeply  the  apparent  end  of  the  trust  for  which 
so  many  sacrifices  have  been  made.  I  am  glad, 
therefore,  that  it  is  in  my  power  to  promise 
you  that  it  shall  be  renewed  as  soon  as  I  have 
legal  power  to  do  so. " 

My  dear  girl,"  Mrs.  Creighton  answered, 

I  regret  nothing  now  except  that  my  brother 
should  have  died  as  soon  as  we  found  you !  And 
I  don't  need  any  legal  proof  that  you  are 
Harry 's  daughter, — none ! ' ' 

"  Not  when  it  might  be  cousin  Maria  herself 
talking  to  us  ! ' '  Mrs.  Selwyn  chimed  in. 

Then,  with  a  grace  all  her  own,  Edith  moved 
forward  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  hope  you  mil  pardon  whatever  I  have 
said  or  done  that  was  offensive  to  vou  under  a 
misconception  of  the  truth, ' '  she  said ;  * '  but  you 
must  forgive  me  if  I  add  that  I  think  mysteries 
are  ahvavs  mistakes." 

"Generally  speaking,  you  are  right,"  Hester 
acknowledged  frankly;  "and  I  should  like  for 
you  and  for  all"  (her  glance  swept  over  every 
one  present)  "to  believe  that  I  had  no  intention 
of  creating  or  maintaining  any  mystery  when 
an  accident,  or  what  seemed  to  be  an  accident, 
brought  me  to  this  house.  I  was  urged  to  come, 
and  I  yielded  because  there  was  a  great  tempta- 
tion in  the  thought  of  seeing  my  father's  home. 
And  if  I  thought  less  of  seeing  those  who  were 
within  it  than  of  the  home  itself,  that  was 
because  there  was   a  great  bitterness  in  my 


A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION  365 

heart;  and  I  recognize  now  that  the  bitterness 
was  also  a  mistake.  I  resisted  every  appeal  of 
one"  (she  looked  at  Desmond)  "who  desired 
earnestly  that  the  truth  should  be  told,  because 
I  intended  to  go  away  as  I  had  come,  unknown. 
It  was  only  what  I  begin  to  think  was  the  mercy 
of  Heaven  which  prevented  this ;  for  I  had  not 
a  thought  of  telling  my  grandfather  who  I  was 
when  I  returned  to  this  room  yesterday  even- 
ing. I  had  just  refused,  out  yonder  in  the 
garden,  a  last  appeal  for  leave  to  tell  the  truth ; 
and  nothing  could  have  astonished  me  more 
than  to  be  assured  that  in  a  little  time  I  should 
myself  tell  it.  The  matter  seemed  suddenly 
taken  out  of  my  hands;  and  altogether  what 
then  occurred  has  led  to  that"  (she  pointed  to 
the  burned  will) ;  "I  can  not  regret  it,  since  I 
am  told  that  I  shall  have  power  to  renew  the 
trust,  and  since  no  one  can  doubt  that  my 
father's  vindication  is  complete  when  his 
daughter  is  acknowledged  and  received  as — 
as—" 

The  soft,  thrilling  voice,  with  its  pathetic 
note  of  deep  feeling,  broke  down,  and  it  was 
Bobby  Selwyn  who  ended  the  sentence : 

"As  the  owner  of  Hillcrest  and  undisputed 
heiress  of  the  Wargrave  trust." 

After  this  all  sense  of  strain  relaxed,  and  the 
occasion  resolved  itself  into  a  family  council, 
in  which  the  details  were  settled  of  the  manner 


366  A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION 

in  which  Hester  should  take  her  rightful  place 
before  the  world. 

"All  of  our  friends  must  be  told  at  once," 
Mrs.  Creighton  said,  "that  my  brother  recog- 
nized her  before  he  died,  and  that  by  his 
direction  his  will  was  destroyed;  so  that  she 
not  only  succeeds  to  the  estate  by  law,  but  by 
his  desire." 

Mr.  Blaisdell  put  out  his  lip. 

"The  less  said  about  the  destruction  of  the 
will  the  better,  in  my  opinion,"  he  remarked. 
"As  I  have  warned  you  all,  you  are  condoning 
a  very  grave  as  well  as  an  audacious  offence 
against  the  law ;  and  before  this  young  lady  can 
inherit  the  estate — at  least  before  she  can  exer- 
cise any  power  connected  with  the  inheritance 
— we  must  have  all  the  legal  proofs  of  her 
identity  as  Harry  Wargrave  's  daughter.  Have 
you,"  he  asked  Hester,  "brought  any  of  these 
proofs  with  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "While  I  had  no 
intention  of  making  myself  known,  and  espe- 
cially not  to  any  member  of  the  Wargrave 
family,  I  felt  that  an  occasion  might  arise  when 
it  would  be  necessary,  or  at  least  well,  to  be  able 
to  prove  who  I  was.  Therefore  I  have  with  me 
my  father's  personal  papers  and  pictures, 
besides  the  certificate  of  his  marriage,  and  a 
copy  of  his  will." 

"So  far  so  good,"  the  lawyer  told  her  with 
a  nod.    ' '  There  is  of  course  a  little  more  neces- 


A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION  367 

sary  for  legal  identification,  but  that  can  easily 
be  secured.  Meanwhile"  (a  slight  twinkle  came 
into  his  eye  here)  "although  I  can  not  approve 
the  lawbreaking  spirit  which  the  Wargrave 
family,  in  its  various  branches,  has  to-day  dis- 
played, I  do  from  my  heart  congratulate  the 
family  on  the  spirit  of  another  kind  which  it 
has  exhibited — on  the  high-mindedness  with 
which  it  has  met  and  dealt  with  an  unusual  and 
difficult  situation. ' ' 

"Since  I  don't  belong  to  the  family  except 
by  courtesy  and  affection,  I  may  be  permitted 
to  say  that  I  heartily  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Blais- 
dell,"  Edith's  ringing  voice  announced. 
"When  we  consider  how  abominably  many 
people  behave  when  it  is  a  question  of  wills  and 
property,  one  appreciates  the  fine  spirit  of  the 
heir  who  tosses  into  the  fire  the  will  which 
secures  him  a  great  inheritance,  because  he 
feels  that  he  is  forced  to  do  so  by  the  higher 
law  of  honor  and  justice ;  and  the  spirit  also ' ' 
(here  her  glance  dwelt  on  Bobby  with  a  very 
kindly  light)  "of  those,  whose  interest  was  only 
second  to  his,  who  have  applauded  the  act. ' ' 

"I  submit  that  Miss  Creighton  can  not  be 
permitted  to  put  herself  outside  of  the  family 
in  this  manner,"  Desmond  eagerly  interposed. 
"She  is  not  only  one  of  us  by  the  affection  of 
which  she  speaks,  but  she  must  be  aware  that 
she  was  very  closely  concerned  in  the  will,  the 


368  A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION 


destruction  of  which  she  is  good  enough  to 
approve. ' ' 

"I  am  glad  if  it  were  so,"  Edith  returned, 
"  since  in  that  case  I  can  feel  that  I,  too,  have 
a  share  in  what,  despite  Mr.  Blaisdell's  pro- 
fessional opinion,  I  regard  as  an  act  of  which 
to  be  proud. ' ' 

"Well,  well,"  Mr.  Blaisdell  observed  a  little 
testily,  "I  repeat  that  the  less  said  about  the 
will  the  better.  The  family  have  approved  the 
manner  in  which  the  last  wishes  of  the  testator 
have  been  carried  out,  and  that  ends  the  matter. 
I  will  now  ask  the  young  lady  whom  we  have 
known  up  to  this  time  as  Miss  Landon — " 

"Landon  is  my  second  baptismal  name," 
Hester  quietly  told  him. 

"But  whom  we  must  now  call  Miss  War- 
grave,"  he  went  on,  "to  give  me  the  address 
of  her  attorney  in  San  Francisco,  that  I  may 
write  to  him  for  certain  necessary  particulars 
and  papers.  Meanwhile"  (he  looked  at  Mrs. 
Creighton)  "there  are  some  connections,  and 
many  old  friends  of  the  family  now  in  the 
house,  to  whom  I  would  suggest  that  you  pre- 
sent Miss  Wargrave,  with  a  slight  explanation 
of  her — er — appearance  at  this  time.  It  is  well 
to  avoid  gossip,  which  is  otherwise  quite  certain 
to  be  spread  rather  wildly. ' ' 

"Thank  you  for  the  suggestion!"  Mrs. 
Creighton  said  gratefully.  "You  are  right: 
gossip  can  not  be  forestalled  too  soon.    Let  us 


A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION  369 

settle  exactly  what  is  to  be  told,  and  then 
Robert  Selwyn  and  Laurence  can  bring  to  us 
here  every  one  who  has  any  claim  to  come." 

1  i  There  is  one  important  preparation  for 
that,"  Edith  said  quickly.  "The  nurse's 
uniform  must  be  laid  aside;  and  if"  (she  spoke 
now  to  Hester)  "you  have  not  a  black  dress 
with  you,  I  shall  be  happy  to  lend  you  one. ' ' 
You  are  very  kind,"  Hester  answered; 
but  I  have  a  black  gown,  which  I  was  about  to 
put  on  when  I  was  summoned  here.  I  did  not 
know  then  how  I  should  be  received,  so  I  did 
not  wish  even  to  seem  to  join  in  the  mourning 
of  a  family  that  might  reject  me.  Therefore 
I  came  in  my  nurse 's  dress.  For  the  manner  in 
which  you  have  received  me"  (she  again  ex- 
tended toward  them  hands  which,  as  well  as  her 
tones,  slightly  trembled)  "I  have  no  words  with 
which  to  thank  you.  I  can  only  say  that  it  has 
wiped  away  forever  all  memory  of  bitterness." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

LAUKENCE  STAYS 

Despite  every  effort  which  the  family  could 
make  there  was  more  than  a  nine  davs '  wonder 
over  the  sudden  appearance  of  Judge  War- 
grave's  granddaughter,  the  news  (which  could 
not  be  suppressed)  that  the  Wargrave  trust 
had  lapsed,  that  this  unknown  girl  was  sole 
heiress  of  the  estate,  and  that  the  young  man 
who  had  been  brought  from  afar  to  fill  the 
position  of  heir,  was  left  with  no  interest  at  all 
in  the  great  inheritance.  His  attractive  person- 
ality and  debonair  ways  had  made  him  very 
popular  with  all  who  met  him  during  his  stay 
at  Hillcrest  as  the  Judge's  recognized  succes- 
sor ;  and  sympathy  was  freely  expressed  for  his 
disappointment. 

"You  are  wasting  your  pity!"  Bobby  Selwyn 
told  all  who  uttered  this  sympathy  to  him. 
"Desmond  doesn't  care  a  rap  for  the  loss  of 
the  estate.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  delighted 
that  the  Judge's  granddaughter  has  inherited 
it ;  and  indeed  he  had  more  than  anv  one  else  to 
do  with  the  fact  that  she  has  come  into  her 
rights." 

370 


LAURENCE  STAYS  371 

"Is  it  true  that  he  destroyed  the  will  that 
gave  everything  to  him  ? ' '  more  than  one  person 
curiouslv  inquired. 

"Well"  (Bobby  was  mindful  of  Mr.  Blais- 
dell's  stern  admonition),  "I  can  only  tell  you 
that  the  will  was  destroyed  in  accordance  with 
the  Judge  's  positively  expressed  wish,  and  with 
the  approval  of  every  one  concerned.  Desmond 
acted  extremelv  well,  and  we  all  endorsed  his — 
er — action. ' ' 

"Pitv  that  such  a  fine  fellow  couldn't  have 
inherited  the  estate!"  was  the  consensus  of 
public  opinion ;  and  Bobby  permitted  himself  to 
say  significantly, 

"Perhaps  it  may  come  into  his  hands,  after 
all." 

This  suggestion  he  owed  to  Edith  Creighton, 
who,  when  twitted  with  the  mistake  she  had 
made  in  her  judgment  of  the  relations  existing 
between  Desmond  and  the  young  nurse,  had 
replied  with  a  touch  of  asperity, 

"You  are  not  half  as  clever  as  you  think 
yourself,  Bobby.  It  is  true  that  I  was  mistaken 
about  the  mere  facts,  but  I  wasn't  mistaken  in 
the  preception  of  something  which  made,  or 
seemed  to  make,  those  facts  possible.  I  don't 
know  whether  or  not  it  has  had  any  effect  on 
Laurence  Desmond's  conduct,  but  it  is  very 
clear  to  me  that  he  is  in  love  with  the  girl  whom 
we  now  know  as  Hester  Wargrave." 

"Do   you    really   think   so?"   Bobby   asked 


372  LAUKENCE  STAYS 

anxiously.  "In  spite  of  all  you  said  that  day 
when  you  were — er — so  angry,  I've  always 
believed  that  he  was  in  love  with  you" 

"You  seem  to  labor  under  the  impression 
that  everybody  must  be  in  love  with  me, ' '  Edith 
informed  him,  with  slightly  increased  asperity ; 
"and  of  course  it  might  have  appeared  the 
obvious  thing  in  Laurence's  case.  But,  in 
reality,  he  has  never  been  in  love  with  me  for 
an  hour.  His  mind  was  filled  with  thoughts  of 
that  girl  when  I  first  met  him — he  talked  of  her 
as  we  drove  from  Kingsford  the  evening  he 
arrived, — and  therefore  my  charms,  great  as 
you  imagine  them  to  be,  never  had  a  chance  to 
impress  him." 

"Well,  of  course  that  explains  it,"  Bobby 
conceded;  "for  I  don't  imagine  your  charms  to 
be  any  greater  than  they  really  are.  And  if  his 
mind  hadn't  been  already  filled  with  her,  he 
couldn't  have  helped  falling  in  love  with  you. 
I  don't  honestly  see  how  he  avoided  it,  anyway; 
but  if  he  did,  it's  clearly  providential.  For  if 
she  reciprocates  his  feeling,  as  I  suppose  she 
does—?" 

"I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  whether  she  does 
or  does  not,"  Edith  answered  his  interrogative 
pause.  "She  is  an  extremely  reserved  person 
— at  least  to  me, — and  has  not  betrayed  in  any 
way  how  she  feels  toward  Laurence." 

"She  must  have  been  impressed  by  the  mag- 
nificent way  in  which  he  flung  that  will  into  the 


LAURENCE  STAYS  373 

fire  in  order  to  give  her  a  great  inheritance, ' ' 
Bobby  hazarded. 

"Naturally  she  must  have  admired  that," 
Edith  agreed.  "But  I  think  she  recognizes  that 
he  did  it  for  a  higher  reason  than  merely  to  give 
her  a  great  inheritance." 

"You  mean — ?" 

"I  mean  that  whatever  she  had  been — if  he 
had  disliked  instead  of  being,  as  I  fancy,  in  love 
with  her — he  would  have  acted  in  the  same 
manner.  I  don't  believe  that  he  was  thinking 
of  her  at  all  when  he  put  that  will  in  the  fire ; 
I  think  it  was  done  in  obedience  to  a  standard 
of  action  which  would  not  have  been  changed  by 
any  personal  consideration  whatever." 

Bobby  stared  for  a  moment. 

' '  You  certainly  think  very  highly  of  him, ' '  he 
said  then. 

Yes,  I  think  highly  of  him,"  she  answered, 
perhaps  more  highly  because  it  has  not  been 
long  since  I  did  him  injustice,  as  you  know. 
But  he  is  not  the  only  person  of  whom  I  think 
highly,"  she  added  quickly.  "I  was  proud  of 
you  that  day,  Bobby.  You  were  as  deeply  con- 
cerned in  that  will  as  Laurence  Desmond — you 
knew  that  it  named  vou  as  the  heir  of  the  War- 
grave  trust  after  him, — but  you  saw  it  burned 
without  an  effort  to  save  it ;  although  you  could 
easily  have  snatched  it  from  the  fire,  as  Mr. 
Blaisdell  roared  to  you  to  do." 

Bobby  laughed. 


1 1 


374  LAURENCE  STAYS 


' '  I  should  have  had  to  fight  Desmond. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  no !  Mr.  Blaisdell  could  have  taken  care 
of  him.  But  you  never  thought  of  it ;  you  were 
perfectly  willing  for  it  to  be  burned. ' ' 

' '  Of  course  I  was  willing,  since  the  Judge  had 
desired  it;  and,  besides,  it  was,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, the  only  right  thing  to  do." 

"That  is  it!"  Edith  exclaimed.  "You  felt 
that  it  was  'the  only  right  thing  to  do,'  and  so 
you  did  it,  with  less  outward  display  than  Lau- 
rence Desmond,  but  just  as  really.  And  do  you 
know  what  this  proves,  Bobby?" 

"Well — er — that  I  haven't  forgotten  every- 
thing that  you've  sometimes  charged  me  with 
forgetting,"  Bobby  suggested,  not  very  lumi- 
nously. 

"Yes:  that  you  haven't  forgotten  anything 
that  is  vital  in  those  standards  and  traditions 
that  dear  Uncle  George  held  so  high.  Oh,  he 
knew  what  he  was  doing  when  he  put  you  in 
the  line  of  succession  to  the  Wargrave  trust! 
I  thought  it  very  fine  of  him  when  I  heard  of  it, 
because  I  knew  that  he  disapproved  of  so  many 
of  your  modern  ideas  and  methods.  But  I  know 
now  that  he  understood  vou  all  the  time, — 
understood  better  than  I  did  that,  whenever 
you  were  put  to  the  test,  you  would  show  that 
sense  of  the  fine  spirit  of  honor  which  he  wor- 
shipped above  all  things.  You  showed  it, 
Bobby,  when  you  stood  by  and  let  Laurence 
Desmond  destroy  your  prospect  of  inheritance 


LAURENCE  STAYS  375 


as  well  as  his  own,  because  you  both  felt  that  it 
was  'the  only  right  thing  to  do.'  " 

As  Bobby  looked  at  the  eager  speaker,  the 
moisture  which  is  the  mark  of  deep  feeling 
sprang  to  his  honest  eyes. 

"You  are  awfully  good  to  say  these  things 
to  me,  Edith!"  he  told  her.  "It  didn't  occur 
to  me  that  there  was  anything  at  all  remark- 
able in  what  I  did;  but  I'd  burn  a  dozen  wills 
to  have  you  think  so  well  of  me.  While  we  are 
talking  of  the  destroying  of  the  will,  however, 
let  me  tell  you  that  you  said  something  on  the 
occasion  which  I  didn  't  like  at  all. ' ' 

"Indeed!"  Edith's  eager  expansiveness  suf- 
fered a  slight  frost.    "What,  pray?" 

"You  said  that  you  did  not  belong  to  the 
family.  Now,  in  a  strict  sense  that  may  be 
true — " 

"  It  is  true  in  every  sense. ' ' 

' '  No,  it  isn  't !  You  admitted  the  ties  of  con- 
nection and  affection  which  make  you  one  of  us ; 
but  there  ought  to  be  more,  Edith.  You  ought 
to  enter  the  family.  I've  thought  of  late  that 
you  would  enter  it  by  marrying  Desmond ;  and, 
after  a  fashion,  I  had  resigned  myself  to  your 
doing  so.  But  since  you  tell  me  there  is  no 
prospect  of  that,  if  I  could  only  induce  you  to 
consider  marrying  me — " 

"Bobby,"  Edith  declared,  with  something 
between  a  laugh  and  a  sob,  "you  are  the  most 
absurd  human  being  on  the  face  of  the  earth! 


376  LAURENCE  STAYS 

I  have  never  known  yon  to  fail  to  take  advan- 
tage of  any  occasion,  however  inappropriate,  to 
make  that  suggestion. ' ' 

1  i  There  is  nothing  inappropriate  about  the 
present  occasion,"  Bobby  affirmed;  "and  I 
promise  you  that  I  shall  continue  to  make  the 
suggestion  as  long  as  there  is  the  faintest  hope 
that  you  may  some  day  take  it  seriously  into 
consideration." 

She  regarded  him  steadily  for  a  moment,  and 
then  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  think  that  day  has  come,"  she  said.  "I 
think  I  must  take  it  into  consideration  quite 
seriously." 

It  was  several  days  after  Judge  Wargrave's 
funeral,  when  the  household  of  Hillcrest  had 
returned  to  those  normal  conditions  of  life 
which  must  go  on,  like  the  rising  and  setting 
of  the  sun,  whatever  presence  is  withdrawn 
from  the  world,  that  the  girl  who  was  now  rec- 
ognized as  the  owner  of  the  fine  old  home  sat  in 
the  library  talking  to  Mr.  Blaisdell.  He  had 
just  informed  her  that  all  the  legal  steps  were 
taken  to  put  her  in  possession  of  the  estate ;  and 
he  had  listened  with  many  demurring  interrup- 
tions to  certain  instructions  which  she  at  once 
attempted  to  give  him. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "you  must 
wait  a  little  for  all  of  this.  I  am  aware  that 
you  pledged  yourself  to  renew  the  Wargrave 
trust  as  soon  as  possible,  but  no  one  would  or 


LAUREXCE  STAYS  377 

could  expect  you  to  do  anything  of  the  kind 
until  your  life  is — er — somewhat  settled.'' 

' '  My  life  is  as  much  settled  now  as  it  is  ever 
likely  to  be,"  Hester  told  him  quietly.  "At 
least  my  intention  is  clearly  settled  to  replace 
my  grandfather's  will  as  far  as  possible.  Noth- 
ing could  induce  me  to  profit  by  the  accident  of 
its  destruction." 

Mr.  Blaisdell  put  out  his  long  lip. 

"I  should  hardly  call  the  destruction  an 
accident,"  he  said.  "It  was  a  very  deliberate 
action,  and  I  don't  think  you  will  succeed  in 
conferring  the  estate  upon  the  legatee  who  in 
such  a  decisive  manner  rejected  it." 

Hester  looked  distressed. 

"Can  he  not  be  forced  to  take  it?"  she  asked. 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head. 

"I  know  of  no  means  bv  which  that  could  be 
accomplished,"  he  said, — "especially  in  the 
case  of  a  person  so  self-willed  as  this  young 
man  has  proved  himself. ' ' 

"But  you  have  forced  it  upon  me!"  the  girl 
remonstrated. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  corrected  her.  "The  law 
forces  it  upon  you, — which  is  a  very  different 
matter.  You  are  the  only  heir  of  Judge  War- 
grave  whom  the  law  recognizes,  and  you  must 
accept  the  estate  in  order  to  be  able  to  dispose 
of  it  as  you  desire. ' ' 

"I  am  afraid  you  think  me  very  self-willed 
also,"  she  said.     "But  you  don't  know  how 


378  LAURENCE  STAYS 

anxious  I  am  that  ray  coming  shall  make  no 
change  in  what  had  been  arranged  before  I 
came.  My  grandfather  had  selected  his  heir,  he 
had  brought  him  here  from  the  other  side  of  the 
world,  he  had  settled  everything ;  and  it  is  intol- 
erable to  me  that  my  mere  existence  should 
upset  what  was  even  to  the  end  so  near  his 
heart. ' ' 

"He  proved  that  there  was  something  even 
nearer  to  his  heart,  which  was  to  do  tardy 
justice  to  the  son  who  had  been  so  deeply 
wronged,' '  Mr.  Blaisdell  answered.  "As  for 
your  existence,  you  can't  help  that,  you  know; 
and  I  don 't  really  think  that  there  is  any  reason 
why  you  should  desire  to  help  it.  I  knew  my 
old  friend  very  well,  and  I  am  sure  that  he 
would  be  satisfied  that  the  daughter  of  his  son 
reigns  as  mistress  in  his  home." 

"But  the  Wargrave  trust!" 

"Ah,  we  must  let  the  Wargrave  trust  take 
its  chances!  Some  day  when  you  are — er — 
married  perhaps — " 

Hester  rose  abruptly  from  her  seat. 

"You  don't  understand!"  she  cried.  "I 
want  this  matter  settled,  so  as  to  be  independ- 
ent of  anything  I  may  or  may  not  do  in  the 
future.  I  want  to  put  the  heir  my  grandfather 
selected  in  his  place,  and  then  go  away  to  live 
my  own  life  as  I  like,  without  any  responsibility 
here. ' ' 


LAUEEXCE  STAYS  379 

The  lawyer,  who  had  also  risen,  shook  his 
head  at  her. 

"You  won't  be  able  to  manage  that,"  he  told 
her.  "Life  is  so  ordered  for  all  of  us  that  we 
can't  throw  off  our  responsibilities,  however 
much  we  might  like  to  do  so.  You  would  like 
just  now  to  turn  the  Wargrave  trust,  and  all 
that  it  implies,  over  to  Laurence  Desmond;  but 
I  don't  think  he  will  oblige  you  so  far  as  to  take 
it.    However,  vonder  he  is !    You  can  ask  him." 

He  had  glanced  through  one  of  the  windows 
as  he  spoke,  and  he  now  walked  across  the  floor 
and  threw  it  up. 

"Hallo!"  he  shouted  to  the  young  man, 
whose  figure,  attended  by  two  leaping  dogs,  he 
had  seen  on  the  terrace.  Then,  as  a  surprised 
face  turned  toward  him,  he  beckoned  inpera- 
tively.  "Come  here!"  he  cried.  "We  want 
vou. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  I  don 't  think  we  do ! "  Hester  hurriedly 
remonstrated  behind  him. 

"I'm  sure  that  Ave  do,"  he  replied,  turning 
back  to  her.  "As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  must 
insist  upon  a  clear  understanding  between  you 
two  before  I  take  instructions  for  legal  instru- 
ments of  any  kind.  Come  in,  Mr.  Desmond,"  he 
continued,  adressing  the  young  man,  who  now 
appeared  at  the  window.  "Miss  Wargrave  and 
mvself  wish  to  talk  to  vou  a  little. ' ' 

"Mr.  Blaisdell  may  wish  to  talk  to  you," 


380  LAURENCE  STAYS 

Hester  interposed  with  some  spirit,  "but  I  have 
not  expressed  any  desire  of  the  kind." 

"Then"  (Desmond  abruptly  withdrew  a  leg 
which  he  had  advanced  over  the  window-sill) 
"I  will  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Blais- 
dell  later  at  his  office  in  Kingsf ord. ' ' 

"No,  you  won't!"  Mr.  Blaisdell  shot  out  a 
long  arm  and  drew  him  into  the  room.  "You 
will  be  good  enough  to  see  me  here  and  now; 
and  I  must  beg  Miss  Wargrave  to  remain  with 
us"  (for  he  detected  a  slight  tentative  move- 
ment of  Hester  toward  the  door)  "until  certain 
matters  can  be  discussed,  and  a  conclusion  dis- 
tinctly agreed  upon  by  all  concerned." 

"Really,  Mr.  Blaisdell,"  Desmond  objected, 
"this  seems  rather  an  arbitrary  proceeding,  in 
view  of  Miss  Wargrave 's  assurance  that  she 
has  nothing  to  discuss,  and  my  strong  convic- 
tion that  I  am  not  in  the  least  concerned  in  any 
matter  which  you  may  have  under  considera- 
tion with  her." 

Mr.  Blaisdell  regarded  him  with  a  sarcastic, 
though  friendly,  glance. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Desmond,"  he  said,  "you  must 
kindly  allow  me  to  be  the  best  judge  of  my  own 
business.  We  are  not  disposing  of  wills,  by  fire 
or  otherwise,  at  present;  but  are  rather  intent 
upon  a  question  of  making  them — " 

"No,  no!"  Hester  interposed  quickly.  "You 
are  quite  mistaken.  I  do  not  want  to  make  a 
will — that  is,  something  which  will  operate  only 


LAURENCE  STAYS  381 

after  I  am  dead — I  want  to  arrange  the  matter 
of  which  I  spoke  to  you,  so  that  it  will  be 
immediately  operative  now." 

"I  quite  understand,"  Mr.  Blaisdell  assented 
with  a  nod,  "and  I  used  the  word  'will'  in  a 
comprehensive  sense.  But  this  being  so,  there 
is  all  the  more  reason  that  the  person  in  whose 
favor  you  propose  to  resign  your  inheritance 
shall  have  a  word  to  say  in  the  matter. ' ' 

"What!"  Desmond  strode  forward  and 
stood  in  front  of  her.  "Is  it  possible  that  you 
have  for  an  instant  entertained  the  idea  of 
resigning  your  inheritance  in  my  favor?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  something  like 
defiance  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  not  my  inheritance, ' '  she  told  him.  ' '  It 
is  yours.  My  grandfather  chose  you  as  his 
heir ;  he  gave  his  estate  to  you  in  the  will  which 
you  destroyed ;  and  I  positively  decline  to  profit 
by  the  destruction  of  that  will." 

"You  forget  that  it  was  his  desire  that  it 
should  be  destroyed. ' y 

"I  do  not  forget  that.  But  he  was  not  only 
in  an  irresponsible  condition  of  mental  excite- 
ment when  he  desired  it :  he  had  even  then  no 
intention  of  ignoring  the  Wargrave  trust,  or 
of  changing  your  place  in  it.  I  am  sure  of  this, 
and  therefore  I  have  told  Mr.  Blaisdell  that  I 
wish  him  to  prepare  whatever  papers  are  neces- 
sary to  put  the  entailed  estate  into  your  hands 


382  LAURENCE  STAYS 

in  exact  accordance  with  my  grandfather's 
wishes  and  directions. ' ' 

"And  you  think — yon  really  think — that  I 
would  accept  it?" 

"You  would  have  no  alternative,  since  I 
refuse  to  keep  it." 

"No  alternative!"  He  threw  back  his  head 
with  a  laugh  of  angry  scorn.  "I  would  soon 
show  you  whether  or  not  I  had  an  alternative. 
I  am  very  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Blaisdell"  (he 
swung  round  toward  that  gentleman)  "for 
letting  me  know  what  was  being  considered.  I 
think  I  need  hardly  tell  him  that  I  would  not 
tolerate  such  an  arrangement  for  a  moment." 

"I  warned  Miss  Wargrave  that  it  might  be — 
er — well  to  consult  you  before  she  took  any 
decisive  step, ' '  Mr.  Blaisdell  remarked.  ' i  That 
is  why  I  called  you  in.  It  seemed,"  he  added 
dryly,  "a  trifle  unnecessary  to  prepare  any 
more  papers  to  be  burned. ' ' 

"Quite  unnecessary,"  Desmond  assented, 
with  a  laugh  out  of  which  the  flash  of  anger  had 
gone,  "since  burned  any  such  paper  surely 
would  have  been.  Perhaps"  (he  turned  back  to 
Hester)  "you  think  me  ungrateful — " 

"No,"  she  interrupted  in  a  low  tone,  "I  only 
think  you  very  unkind. ' ' 

"Unkind!"  He  put  out  his  hand  impulsively 
and  caught  hers,  as  he  had  caught  it  more  than 
once  before.  "Now,  why,  in  Heaven's  name, 
should  you  think  that?" 


LAURENCE  STAYS  383 

"Because,"  she  told  him,  with  something  like 
a  suggestion  of  tears  in  her  voice, ' i  you  brought 
me  here — for  it  was  all  your  doing, — you  have 
placed  me  in  a  false  position  by  destroying  the 
will  which  secured  the  Wargrave  trust,  and 
you  now  refuse  to  let  me  do  the  only  thing 
possible  to  repair — atone  for  the  trouble  I  have 
caused." 

"You  have  caused  no  trouble,"  Desmond 
assured  her ;  while  Mr.  Blaisdell,  after  clearing 
his  throat  in  a  significant  manner,  stepped 
through  the  still  open  window,  and  walked  away 
unheeded.  "Don't  you  know  that,  so  far  from 
that,  you  have  ended  trouble  by  your  coming; 
you  brought  peace  and  comfort  to  a  dying  man ; 
and  there  is  no  member  of  the  family,  either 
near  or  remote,  who  is  not  glad  that  Harry 
Wargrave  has  come  into  his  inheritance  in  the 
person  of  his  daughter,  and  who  is  not  willing 
that  the  final  disposition  of  that  inheritance 
should  be  left  in  your  hands  1 ' ' 

"But  you  are  not  willing!"  she  urged  re- 
proachfully. "You  refuse  to  accept  the  dis- 
position I  wish  to  make  of  it. ' ' 

"I  said  the  final  disposition,"  Desmond 
reminded  her.  "For  the  present,  you  must 
accept  the  burden  that  has  come  upon  you. 
There  is  no  help  for  that.  You  can  not  tell  yet 
how  life  will  deal  with  it  or  with  you,  or  what 
will  be  finally  the  best  disposition  to  make  of 
it.     I  am  only  sure  that  with  the  Wargrave 


384  LAURENCE  STAYS 

trust,  as  with  all  else,  you  will  act  in  a  fine, 
high  spirit  of  conscientious  endeavor  to  do  your 
duty  toward  God  and  man. ' ' 

She  looked  up  at  him  like  a  child,  and  the 
tears  suddenly  overflowed  from  the  clear 
fountains  of  her  eyes,  as  she  sank  into  a  chair. 

"How  shall  I  know  the  way  to  do  all  this — 
after  you  are  gone  1 ' '  she  asked. 

Infinitely  touched,  he  knelt  down  beside  her, 
and  gathered  her  hands  again  into  the  clasp  of 
his. 

"Hester,"  he  said  softly,  "if  you  wish  me  to 
stay,  I  will  never  go. ' ' 


PUNTED  BY  BENZIGER  BROTHERS,   NEW  YORK. 


" 

H 

